Life After
by Pipshall
Summary: Eric St.John's life has just ended as he knows it. He needs to find the strength and courage to rebuild it and find a woman to support him through. Modern day version inspired by POTO.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Go on; look at me; I dare you. Stop concentrating on the wall; I am standing in front of you so turn your head to face me. No - do not focus your gaze just over my right shoulder, I can tell what you are doing. _Look at me_, I say. Focus your eyes on my face and talk to me straight. There is no need to speak slowly or any need to shout, I can hear you fine, I'm not stupid – no far from it.

So treat me like a normal person, do your best. Still can't look me straight in the eye can you? I can tell, you blush, and you lower your eyes and simper like a teenager on their first date. And then you smile and that hurts most of all, for you smile in a sad way, in a pitiful way as if you feel very sorry for me, as if my life isn't worth the effort.

Yeah thanks, due to people like you sometimes I don't feel like my life is worth anything at all. Right at this very moment is one of them. Just get the hell out of here, I don't want to see you, don't want your artificial concern. Leave me alone; forget I even asked you to look at me. I am not like you – at least not anymore.

For a brief moment I thought you really cared, thought you could see beyond it all, but I guess not. For a split second I thought you were like her and for one small second hope re-entered my life.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was another grim November day, the sky hung low weighed down with threat from grey rainclouds and a cold wind whistled down the nearly deserted street, stretching it's tendrils into the side alleys and doorways, leaving no area protected from it's icy blast.

Time stretched immortal and never ending on days like these, hours heavy with expectation of something that just never seemed to happen, it was as if the world was starting its winter hibernation. The shopping precinct was devoid of it's usual bustle, few daring to venture out in such weather and those that did kept their heads covered and their faces bent low to stop them getting blasted with the cold. Even then it crept under their thick coats, up the sleeves of their tops chilling anyone foolish enough to try and conquer it's grasp on the day.

From my vantage point I watched the foolhardy through the thickening mist on the plate glass window, my hands wrapped round the mug of coffee, trying to channel the heat from the china into my body, awkwardly sipping from it occasionally, attempting to make the drink last as long as possible, for to finish meant that I had to leave and resume my pathetic excuse for an existence.

Instead I sat there, my hands tightly gripping the mug, a free newspaper spread open on the table in front of me, covering a plate of crumbs; all that was left of the muffin I had eaten. The soft hum of conversation, the gentle unchallenging music softly playing in the background, the occasional hiss of steam as more milk was frothed, more coffee served all acted as a soporific balm to my tetchy mind and troubled soul. No one bothered me; the shop was mostly empty; so I was free to stay as long as I wished, propped up only by a sweetened cappuccino.

Reading the paper avidly from cover to cover had become a new habit of mine, almost a hobby. It helped to remind me that there was suffering all over the face of the planet, that I was not alone, as my therapist kept reminding me. She was right, of course she was. After all I was only one of hundreds of people that passed through her surgery ever year. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, or conversely in a bustling street I felt as alone as was possible for mankind to be, cut off from the lives of everyone else.

It was probably not true, but then I had become rather fond of overstatement and melodrama recently. For several weeks I had been strong, I had kept that horrendous British stiff upper lip and for what? No, it was much easier to give buried emotions free rein. After all, everyone thought I was weird anyway, so to add a touch of eccentricity to the proceedings didn't hurt in the slightest, it even occasionally bought a smile to my face, a painful cracked smile.

I had almost become a familiar sight, striding down the pedestrianised street, my coat flapping around me, hands buried deep in the pockets and as the weather cooled with the approach of autumn, a scarf wrapped around my neck and face, it's tasselled ends dangling down my sweater. Jeans, slightly too baggy to be that fashionable, but they were all that fit, the same as the misshapen bulky sweater – thank god for winter, it meant I could hide beneath clothing. I believed that I became something of a sight as I walked everyday from the house to the coffee shop, sometimes stopping to buy a paper, ignoring the stares of other people, ignoring the way they avoided looking at me, or tried to outstare me.

But today everyone was inside and those that weren't hurried along trying to get into the warmth, no patience to notice those around them. Trade was slow in the coffee shop and the staff stood behind the counter chatting, the temperature rising inside all the time, the outside vanishing slowly as a fuggy mist crept up the windows blocking the world outside totally from view, suspending the occupants in a world of mugs, steam and the almost overpowering smell of coffee.

Therefore when the bell above the door jingled and a blast of coolness spread through the space it caused everyone, myself included; to look up, note the woman battling her way in through the door, manhandling a rather large buggy with a tiny occupant strapped into the interior, swaddled in blankets and clothes, it's features scrunched up in sleep, a frown carved into it's forehead as if the weight of the world sat upon it's shoulders.

She wheeled the pram up to the counter and I couldn't help noticing the bags that were pushed into the net underneath, boxes and packets all brightly coloured, all with pictures of happy babies printed on them. "Humph new mother" I snorted, well aware that this was a common meeting point for them to gather and swap exaggerated stories in loud voices as their little children mewed and wailed, disturbing the peace.

She placed her order and took the seating in with a sweep of her eye, searching for a table to put herself and her child and no doubt at least one other buggy around. I tried to spread myself out in the space that a couple of tables occupied, make it look busy, for I did not want to share the little alcove that I inhabited. But it was too late; she had spied the free seat and started to push the buggy over.

"This seat isn't taken is it?" she asked quietly, her head tilted to one side as she looked at me, obviously trying to garner my feelings on her intrusion.

"No," I kept my answer curt, not wanting to encourage conversation, for that meant questions and questions always led to explanation and invariably to pity. With a sound that could have been a thank you she parked the contraption at such an angle that I could not get out without clambering over the blasted thing or moving it. Damn buggies and babies and their mothers, why did they always act as if they owned wherever they went?

She returned shortly with her coffee, a paper tucked under her arm and sat on the chair in the corner, facing her baby. It was only then that I realised her positioning gave her a clear view of me as I huddled at the opposite table. As soon as she looked up her line of vision would include me in its path. I could already feel her gaze like a thousand knives pricking into me, hear the thoughts that must be running through her head, see the small movements as she subtly shifted herself in her seat so that a few more millimetres parted us. I looked up to glare at her, teach her not to be so rude and instead found myself surprised.

Echoing my actions her hands were wrapped around her mug, but her head was bent, a dark, slightly greasy ponytail hung over her hunched shoulders. She could have been concentrating on the paper, but there was something in her posture, something in her face that told me she was not seeing the words printed in front of her.

I watched with mounting alarm as a small droplet of water slid down the edge of her nose and plopped on the paper. She was crying, silently shedding tears into her coffee.

A tremble ran through me as I quietly observed her, worry and panic rising in my body as she continued to sit at the table and silently weep her heart out, the emotion taking hold of her more deeply causing her thin shoulders to shake a little. Gripping the edge of my table as hard as I possibly could I continued to watch the scene unfolding in front of me. She must have cried for a good ten minutes, before she released a shuddering breath, attempting to dampen her emotions.

She grabbed the napkin under her coffee and went to wipe her eyes, only to find it drenched in cold milk. With mounting alarm she patted her pockets looking for something to wipe away the evidence of her emotional state. The trembling lips and panic caused a moment of gallantry in me and I pulled a spare napkin out from under the paper and silently placed it on her table.

"Thanks" she stared at my hand; no doubt taking in it's gloved appearance, before glancing up looking directly at my face. I was shocked as few people did that, they tended to glance over my shoulder or down towards my chest, anything to stop meeting my eye straight on. But she stared straight at me and I back at her, a thought at the back of my mind noting how the tears in her eyes made them the most brilliant blue.

"That's okay," I was lulled by her gaze, for the first time in ages not feeling that the stare was judgmental.

"I don't normally cry in coffee shops," she added, an attempt at a smile forcing her face into a wobbly grin. "It's just been, well it's been…" she trailed off, unable to explain, but gestured at the silent still baby, an action that I was meant to interpret.

"Been difficult has she," I murmured softly, hoping that was the right sort of phrase to use. I was sure that I had overheard the mothers say it to one another.

"That's one way of putting it." She gave another choked sigh. "I think I slept three hours last night, maybe less. And the nights just seem so long." I tried to smile reassuringly, offer comfort that it seemed she was seeking, obviously desperate for some form of contact, after all it seemed that she had chosen me as her confidant. It was then that I noticed the deep bruising under her eyes, it would seem that sleep was a luxury to her. I knew what that felt like.

"It is awful isn't it?" I offered, but they all say that it gets better." My advice one again came from eavesdropped conversations.

"Well, it's been four months and I'm still waiting," she replied, somewhat tartly, obviously not wanting soothing platitudes. Four months, it would seem that she had been suffering for almost as long as I had. It had been just over six months since that fateful day when my life had changed so much, only a few weeks more then the arrival of a child in this woman's life. My surprise must have shown in my face, god knows how, but she looked me at me again in this disarmingly frank way of hers. "I'm sorry," the apology came unbidden. "I should not have spoken like that, it's just been a rather tough time that's all. Although," she paused and looked down again before raising her head once more. "Not as tough as yours, I'm sure."

"Possibly not, but then I have never experienced the fulfilment of children." She caught on to my dry tone of voice and laughed.

"They fulfil your worst nightmares," she replied, before a smile crept onto her tear-streaked face. "I might suggest that you don't have one in the near future if you value your sleep."

"I will keep that in mind," I tried to sound as if I were in a position to seriously consider her comment before realising in a flash that she was teasing. Of course, how stupid could I get? It seemed that my self-enforced isolation had even moved as far as my sense of humour. All I could concentrate on were the emotions of hate, pity, panic and fear.

"I'm Ali by the way," she held out her hand in an entirely normal way, as if I were an entirely normal person, waiting for me to shake it, return the greeting.

"Eric," my voice was choked, slightly rough as if I had forgotten how introductions were made.

"Please to meet you Eric," her voice was calm, slightly husky with the effort of her crying. "I meant what I said, I don't normally cry in coffee shops, it just fell out."

"They are pretty understanding here," I flicked my hand towards the counter. "Put up with most sorts, myself included."

"Even sleep deprived depressed mothers it would seem," another attempt at a half-hearted joke. "Well, I had better go home, the health visitor is due to visit, tell me I am doing a great job no doubt and to hang in there." She gathered her things in a flurry, zipping up her coat and reloading her buggy, wiping away the remaining tears on her face with the edge of the napkin. Moving the buggy aside she looked ready to march out the door before she paused and once again looked at me in that frank, disarming way. "Thank you Eric, it is nice to talk to someone. Maybe I'll see you around."

"I'm in here at sometime most days," I found myself replying, hoping with a thing reedy wish that she would understand my hint, realise that I wouldn't mind meeting her again. She flashed me a wobbly smile and manoeuvred her way back out into the cold.

And with that I made my first real contact again with the human race. I knew I would be here tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 2

**Apologies in the delay in uploading this. Be warned this is not a happy Eric!**

Chapter Two

She didn't come. It seemed as if I sat there for hours, waiting; hoping, my body strained with the tension which I held in it. Every time the blasted chime on the door rang my head whipped round, focusing on whoever was entering. There were plenty of mother's coming in and going out, there wretched children filling the air with their cries, but none were the mother I wished to meet.

I stared into the dregs of my coffee cup, hoping that the vague froth would let me on to what I was suppose to do. People read tea leaves; this was simply the twenty-first century version. I wound my hand around the cup, ignoring the stiffness of my fingers as I gripped the warm china, simply waiting and drinking more damn coffee, the caffeine causing my already jumpy state to be enhanced.

I could not believe that this is what I had been reduced to – me; who at one stage could have any woman I desired with the crook of my finger, reduced to sitting in a damn coffee shop in a god forsaken town hoping that a sleep deprived depressed mother might come and talk to me! I wasn't even in London for crying out loud!

Momentary anger surged through me and I roughly stood up, stalking out the building, throwing a menacing stare at anyone who dared rest their eyes on me for longer then was necessary. I was annoyed at the pathetic excuse my life had turned into, angry at the horrific truth that I was no longer at the head of my game; livid at the fact that my so called friends could no longer spare the time of day to contact me; depressed at the fact that I was upset by Ali's absence.

That was it, depression wrapping its loving caress around me, suffocating any breath of hope that I might have dared inhale. I sunk onto a nearby bench, practically unaware of the cold bitter wind that teased the corner of my coat, blowing empty crisp packets and leaflets against my legs. Burying my face in my hands, I closed my eyes, feeling the scratch of the glove against one eye, the smoothness of the unyielding plastic, hard against my ragged fingertips.

"Breathe," I commanded myself silently. In, out, my chest seemed to labour against the weight pushing my chest in and I knew that if I allowed my emotions to get the better of me I would end up howling my heart out on a public bench in the middle of town. "Breathe," my voice was strict, as I felt the air pump into my lungs, in; out, the effort involved huge.

Finally after about five minutes I was able to raise my head, take in my surroundings, my head dizzy with the oxygen rushing around my body. All of a sudden I was aware of the biting cold, the weather not having improved from yesterday. It blew across my body, down my neck as I had not bothered to wind my scarf around my body. With a weary sigh I levered myself into a standing position and trudged off home.

It is amazing how your life course can change in a flash. Within a split second the path on which you are travelling veers off so suddenly, so violently that you aren't even aware of the consequences until it is too late. One moment the future is sure and solid; you can grasp your plans; know what lies ahead, see tangible results for hours of hard work. Know what you want from life. And in a second, one measly movement of the hand on the clock and my life was changed – forever. Or at least that was the case in my situation.

I was driving too fast. I always drove too fast, the thrill of speed coursing through my veins like a drug. It was a warm summer's evening; the fading light had only recently disappeared over the horizon, the heat of the evening still torpid and heavy with humidity.

There was champagne flowing through my veins, the alcohol rising in my blood, like the sap in the trees at spring. It made me dizzy, drunk on my own success, carefree. I could feel my subconscious self guiding me, my foot caressing down on the accelerator, enjoying the throaty roar of the car as it responded, its growl music to my ears.

Music was my life, literally. I ate slept and breathed its intoxicating power, needing it in my life. I was a junkie to sound; dependant on the noise to keep funding my day and keep me going. And yet I wanted to control it; define it, not play an instrument to someone else's tune. Four years at the Royal College of Music made me sure that playing in an orchestra was not for me. A couple of years of composing, living the life of the poverty stricken artist, made me realise that I did not want to grovel at the feet of the public, desperate for recognition. Scrabbling for the money to pay the gas bill, scrapping out the meagre pennies on the most basic of food was not the life I wanted, the existence I had dreamt of either. It was disheartening to have door after door slammed in my face when I tried to offer up my latest composition and so with a loan from the bank and the backing of my parents I decided to set up my own record label and show the bastards what they had so summarily dismissed.

Seven years later I was at the top of my profession. Success had been fickle in coming, but when it arrived I was swept up in its wave and feted and fought over the length of the country. Eric St John became a name to watch, as I had a tendency and the tenacity to track down unusual, obscure talent and let them bloom under my care. From opera and classical to rock, pop and alternative music; there was no genre I considered below me as long as it stood up to my demanding stipulations that the artist put their heart and soul into what they were producing and were in it for the long haul.

It was unsurprising that after a few years of such massive achievement the sharks started to circle and I found myself in the middle of a huge management buyout. They offered me nirvana in exchange for my company, but I realised that it would mean I became a faceless name in a faceless boardroom of some nameless multinational. Instead, to their surprise and the shock of financial advisors I sold out to them but retain my original rights to scout for talent and produce anyone I wished or hand them over to the greater protection of the company, only I got a share of the profits with anyone that I signed.

It was a subtle and calculated move that over the past three years had made me a wealthy man doing exactly what I loved. I had absolute freedom to seek out artists as I wished, in my own time and then to lovingly nurture and bring on a select few to international recognition.

Of course nurturing took on many different forms and there were a few females who had a more personal level of care then others. And that was where I had come from that night.

She had long silken limbs that entwined around my body and the ability to contort herself into a huge range of positions. She also had a penchant for fine wine, fine drugs and success. Food unsurprisingly didn't really come into the equation.

She was no more then a good bed companion. A good fuck, if I wanted to be crude. I felt nothing more for her, then the usual male animal instincts. If I loved her, then it was her voice I wanted to possess, to shape and to call mine, not her as a person.

As a result I was determined not to stay the night after our session of bedroom gymnastics. To stay was to suggest that there was more to the relationship. The passion of the moment would sink into sleep and in the morning I would still be there and then she would expect intimacy. A glance over the breakfast table, sharing the basin as we cleaned our teeth together; a slight kiss as I left for work; women tended to think that was the start of something beautiful.

No, I had been down that dangerous route and did not want to traverse it again. Instead I left as soon as our breathing had levelled and she started to try and make pillow talk. I knew that I was too high, too drunk, should not be driving, but I was determined not to stay. In hindsight - god, if only I had not been so arrogant, so egotistical, I would have a spent a warm night in a bed and a slightly awkward morning.

And then, driving home; the music blaring, the heat of the night allowing me to drive with the roof down, high on life and drunk on my own success, my life changed in a flash.

I didn't see, was possibly slightly too addled too calculate properly. The lights, the noise, the screech of rubber on the road; the sickening crash of metal on metal and then heat, inexplicable heat down one side of my body, burning. I tried to move, tried to crawl away and found that I couldn't, my body would not respond and then finally blackness washed over me and the beautiful embrace of unconsciousness carried me off.

I wasn't aware of waking up as much as returning to existence. It was the constant beeping of a monitor that first registered itself with me, then the squeak of shoes on linoleum, followed by the sounds of people softly speaking against the whirl of air conditioning. Slowly my sense of smell came into being and the pungent aroma of disinfectant assaulted my nose. It was with great pain that I forced myself to open my eyes and see exactly the situation I was in.

I couldn't do it. My right eye opened a fraction, allowing a piercing slither of light into my consciousness, but my left eye refused to cooperate, it felt stuck down, merged into my skin. I lifted my hand to try and use my fingers to force it, push the eyelid back, but recoiled as the scratch of bandage met my cheek.

"No, don't do that Eric," a soft voice spoke to me and strong hands grabbed my wrists settling my arms back down by my sides. I recognised that voice, knew that it was familiar and searched my brain for a name.

"Mum," my voice startled me, dry and cracked, croaky with disuse and dryness.

"I'm glad to see you're awake," she replied. "You've been out for three days."

"Where am I?" I thought that perhaps I was dreaming. On more then one occasion an excess of substances had caused me to hallucinate when I was asleep, the dreams wending themselves through my memory and twisting into nightmares. This must be a nightmare.

"You're in hospital," her reply was blunt. "You had an accident."

"Oh," I could not find words to describe how I felt and the truth was too hard too accept. Instead I found myself blissfully surrendering to the joys of sleep, not wanting to deal with what may or may not be a horrible reality.

And so it was, my life had changed dramatically overnight. I had been in a car accident, although amazingly enough it had not been my fault. Instead a drunken youth had wandered across Chiswick Bridge, not stopping to look either left or right as he walked across four lanes of Friday night traffic. The car in front of me had braked in an attempt to miss him, the driver wrenching the wheel round, spinning into the side of the bridge and spilling petrol all over the road. How it caught light, no one was quite sure, but my car a wreck behind it, was affected by the blaze.

In addition to a broken leg and fractured wrist; I suffered burns down one half of my body. My leg, protected in part by the metal trapping it; was least affected, but my arm in its light cotton t-shirt and my hand gripping the wheel as well as the right side of my face; felt the full lick of the flames.

I could not believe that in this day and age the cure for burns was so crude, so basic. There was little they could do they said, had to wait and see, time will help; were the banal phrases that were bandied about over my head. Therefore six weeks after I was rushed into hospital I was discharged with skin tight garments to wear on my worst affected areas, my leg and wrist in plaster and worst of all; a tight plastic mask pushing against my features, applying pressure to hopefully aid the healing and reduce scarring.

Realising that I was depressed, ill, angry and bordering on suicidal, my parents took me under their wing once more and at the age of thirty-three I moved back into my old bedroom in the faceless town that I had grown up and thought I'd escaped and waited to for my life to end.

Somehow the human spirit is stronger then the individual and whilst I wished for my pathetic excuse of an existence to end, my body would not comply with my wishes. Slowly, painfully slowly it started to heal. The skin grafts that had been put on in hospital started to heal with the normal skin, the pain of daily physiotherapy kept my limbs moving, if not exactly limber and I began to go out, slowly moving around the house at first and then venturing into the autumnal joy of the garden

It was four months before I found the courage to walk into town, my mother dogging my steps all the way there, her glare as people starred at me more vicious then any rottweiler. In this first few nightmare months she was my total support. I was no longer the successful talented only son, the apple of my parent's eye, but a hobbling, disabled excuse for a child. Yet in her quite supportive way she still loved me, still looked out for me. When I cried out in the night she was there by my bedside to soothe me back to sleep; when I snapped at her from sheer boredom, frustration and pain she never shouted back at me.

When I threw a tantrum upon finding that all my clothes did not fit over the bulkiness of the pressure garments, Mum went out and silently bought me a new wardrobe. I swallowed my pride and did not dare point out that one of my hand-made designer suits cost more then the entire set of clothing she bought me.

It was at her insistence that I went out everyday. "Even if you only go out to buy a paper," the words echoed in my head as I stumbled home. "You need to keep going out, becoming a recluse will not help you at all."

Becoming a recluse seemed very desirable at the time. My company had quietly disposed of my services, so that except for a gaudy basket of flowers when I was first released from hospital, they did not bother me. No one called to ask my opinion or offer their support. I had been summarily replaced and whilst in theory my job still existed; my role was fulfilled. So much for my supposed friends, they all sunk back into the woodwork. Maybe that is why I was so pathetically grateful when a woman chose to acknowledge me. Maybe she was tired, upset and depressed, but then I could not offer her much, except similar emotions.

A stiff gust of wind blew past my body and I gathered my coat tighter around my tall frame, head bent against the breeze, not that I could really feel it. I trudged back to my parent's house, back to my pathetic, stupid excuse for an existence and tried not to think of a woman with a running nose and the brightest blue eyes you could ever imagine.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The gloom of greyness that sat like a blanket over the sky was finally joined by the threatened rain, washing over the town in sheets, a ceaseless downpour that made it difficult to go out in fear of being drenched within seconds. It set me on edge and I found myself wandering around, unable to relax or settle my mind to one thing.

Finally even my saint of a mother grew fed up with me hanging around the house, nothing to occupy my thoughts or my hands, bored and restless as any schoolboy. She drove me into town and deposited me at the library, begging me to spend a couple of hours there; away from her kitchen.

In truth it was quite a pleasant way to while away a rainy morning. People did not expect you to interact in a library, but left you to your own devices. I spent a happy hour quietly browsing the groaning shelves, before selecting a few books and settling down in a chair in the corner to read.

If music was my life, then reading was a hobby I enjoyed in my free time. Unfortunately my former job had granted me very few hours to call my own and most of those were spent showing the world how aggressively I could enjoy myself. Evenings were spent out drinking and clubbing and the weekends not spent working; were full of sport and activities; usually designed to show that I lacked neither courage nor the money to indulge my hobbies. The more dangerous the sport and the more money that could be splashed out on designer items; the more my colleagues and I participated in it. Weekend trips spent snowboarding; windsurfing and rock climbing were all commonplace.

But now that my 'friends' had deserted me and my body was no longer up to the rigours that such sport demanded; I happily stretched out in an easy chair placed in the corner of the huge room and with the tempo of the rain beating against the window lost myself in the satire of Evelyn Ware's _Decline and Fall. _Snorting mildly at some of the more outlandish incidents I contentedly lost myself in the story, not caring about time; just enjoy the solitude and luxury of reading.

"Hello Eric," I looked up in shock and surprise at the voice greeting me, only to see my would-be acquaintance looking down at me, one hand resting on the handle of the buggy, the other clutching a pile of books against her chest.

"Ali," I put my book down, turning down the page corner to keep my place and tried to arrange my marred features into a welcoming smile. "How are you?"

"A lot better thanks. And you?" I nodded my affirmation and looked at her expectantly, not quite sure how to continue the conversation, what to say. _Where have you been? Do you know how upset I've been over your absence? Is your little girl sleeping at all?_

"So the health visitor gave me some advice and I just rather holed myself up and followed it, but it's made such a difference. Tess has actually slept through the past four nights. You can conquer the world if you have enough sleep." I tore myself away from my thoughts to listen to her explanation.

"That's good news. You look a lot better," I offered.

"Thanks. Well, I just saw you and thought I'd say 'hi'." She flashed a smile at me, lighting up her face. Our moment was interrupted as her baby let out a squawk of indignation, possibly annoyed at the lack of attention being paid towards her. "Oh darling," Ali spun the pram around to look at its occupants, the books sliding from her grasp as she did. "Shit," her swear coloured the air as the books landed at my feet.

I bent down and clumsily gathered them up, noting that apart from one children's book they all seemed to be about exercise, especially Pilates. "Pilates?" I questioned as I gathered them up, it was something I was not that familiar with.

"It's pea-lah-tes," she laughed in reply, annunciating the syllables for me as she removed her baby from the confines of the pram and bounced her against her chest. "Good postnatal exercises, I need to work on my core strength otherwise I fear I will never be fit again. Anyway, I guess I'd better go, it's time for madam's lunch and she stinks, so she will start loosing it very soon."

"Well, would you like to go for a coffee," I offered, not wanting to loose her company so quickly. _Please don't leave me, please; it has been so nice having someone to talk to._

"That's really sweet of you Eric, but I am afraid that I cannot afford it." She replied, strapping her daughter back in, now that she had comforted her. I should be getting home; it's a bit of a drive."

"Um, well," I paused, patting my coat pocket to check for funds and felt a trickle of sweat run down the back of my neck as I realised that in my haste my wallet was still sitting on my chest of drawers at home. "Tell you what, would you like to come back to my place for lunch. If your baby; um Tess is desperate; I only live five minutes away." I winced at my apologetic and halting invitation, she would never guess that I use to be considered something of a catch!

I caught her watching me, her face set into a frown as if she were weighing up the consequences. Of course, damn it, she didn't know me from Adam. A brief conversation in a coffee shop hardly made us bosom pals. "I mean I live in Guildford Drive," I continued, "not known for its large axe murder population and its close." She laughed at my comment; obviously I hadn't been far off from what she was thinking. _And I live with my parents._

"Well, as you claim not to be an axe murder, then thank you very much; it's a kind offer," she paused and looked out the window at the relentless rain, a cheeky smile widening her mouth. "Do you need a lift home then?"

"I wouldn't say no," I stood up wrapping my coat, moving my protesting arms back into the sleeves of my coat and stood waiting for Ali. Instead I found her gazing up at me, a look I could not place in her eyes as she looked me up and down. _Oh god, please I thought you were better then that. Don't assess me in that way. Please don't be scared of me._

"You're quite tall aren't you?" Was her question, again that look; as if she were calculating something. "About six foot two, three?"

"Yes!" I was surprised. I had rarely met anyone who could calculate height so easily.

"Well, you're 'gonna have fun fitting in my car then." She said with a wicked grin.

Fifteen minutes later I could see what she meant as I stood surveying the compact little car with rusty wheel arches. A baby seat was strapped into the back, a toy mobile hanging off the window and one of those bloody 'Baby on board' stickers in the back window. "Here you go," she said handing me her pile of books. "Get in and I'll be with you in a sec." Unused to being so perfunctorily dismissed, I gawped for a second and then got in the front. I suddenly saw what she meant about my height, for the front seat was moved so far forward to accommodate the baby chair in the back that my legs were crammed up against my body, my knee knocking against the gear stick. It hurt like hell, my skin and muscles protesting against being made to move in such a fashion and I briefly debated getting drenched versus being squashed.

There was a loud bang as Ali slammed the boot shut, dusting her hands off as if it were a job well done, the rain running in rivulets off her hair and dripping off her nose. She got in beside me, her smile once again making her eyes sparkle. "Okay axe murder, tell me how to get to your house then."

Tess was really starting to yell by the time we reached home and I managed to get out the car, almost falling onto the driveway as my uncooperative limbs protested at the position I had been in. We made an ungainly procession through the backdoor, the screeching child getting louder with every second.

"Nice place you got here," Ali took in the large kitchen, all clean and sparkling, full of inviting warmth. "Is your wife at home?"

"Actually, I um…" I trailed off, shrugging off my coat and draping it across the back of a chair. "I live with my.." I never got a chance to finish, for my mother entered the kitchen, obviously wanting to find out the source of the noise.

"What is making that noise, it sounds like a baby, oh," was her opening gambit as she took in the soaked woman with the screaming baby standing next to me. We were all rather wet, my coat dripping puddles on the floor; whilst Ali's nose was quietly growing red. "Hello Eric, I didn't expect you back yet." My mother's voice was calm, as if it were quite commonplace to have strange women and children making a mess of her kitchen.

"Hi Mum," I felt like the proverbial teenager, who had been caught making out with their girlfriend. "This is Ali and Tess, "I spoke loudly above the now piercing scream of the child. "She needs somewhere to feed and change her and I said she could do it here."

"Well no wonder the poor child is crying if it's her feed time. Eric stop standing there like a lemon, put the kettle on and go and get changed, you're sopping. Ali, it is very pleasant to meet you dear. Would you like a towel to dry your hair? Hand me your baby, isn't she lovely."

And with that my mother took control of the situation in her usual way, whilst I was dispatched to remove my wet clothes. Living back at home was like sinking into a cosy duvet, everything seemed to run so efficiently, so easily and comfortably. It was like drowning in a sea of cotton wool.

Five minutes later I returned to find Ali sitting on the floor of our living room in front of a crackling log fire, her hands curled around a cup of tea. Her hair had started to dry in little blonde ringlets around her face and her face was glowing in the heat. The baby sat on my mother's lap, draining a bottle as if it were the last meal it was every going to get. The whole scene was very cosy. Standing in the doorway I felt excluded from the tableau.

"Eric," my mother saw me hovering in the shadows. "There's tea in the pot, come and sit down." I muttered a vague thank you poured myself a large mug and sunk into a spare arm chair, stretching my aching legs out in front of me.

"So, Ali are you married?" I could not help my mother's sly glance towards my friend's ringless fingers clutching her mug. I suddenly realised how little I knew about this woman I had invited back to my parent's home. Ali looked quite upset and glanced down at the dregs of her tea, her lip trembling. Suddenly in a flash of intuition I realised there might be more to her outburst the other day then simply sleep deprivation.

"No," her voice was small, lacking the laughter that had been in it at the library. "Tess was, well she was a mistake really." My mother said nothing, but I could tell that she did not sympathise with her predicament. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. "It was, well," she gulped and her words came out in rush, falling onto our eager ears.

"I was a ballet dancer you see, with the Royal Ballet. Nothing high, I was in the corps; well we call ourselves Artistes, it is a little less degrading." She paused and I could see my mother frozen in her chair. After all being a ballet dancer was far removed from the lifestyle I am sure she had been imagining for the upset woman sitting on her living room floor.

"James was my partner, both on and off the stage and we loved each other; well it is such an intense relationship and often the reality of love and the romance of the stage tend to get merged and muddled. Just because we acted out that we loved each other on stage, we truly believed that we were in real life. It might seem silly but your life is so caught up in dancing that there is nothing else really." She gave a hollow little laugh and it ripped my heart out. I wanted to find this man and chastise him for the treatment of this woman.

From my stoic position in the chair I studied her posture and realised that with hindsight it was obvious that she was trained as a dancer. Even now, upset and wet; she held her posture perfectly, her feet delicately placed together. Her body had been so brainwashed into the way she moved that it was natural. Not dissimilar to the training given to musicians, where man and instrument became one. No wonder she was studying books on Pilates, I remembered reading that it was the exercise of choice for ballet dancers.

"It would have been okay except about a year and a half ago I injured myself, stupidly fell off a ladder and broke my leg. Of course I was out of dancing for several weeks and without the smell of greasepaint and the rigour of rehearsals, well James began to drift and I panicked. Once I was back up dancing it was okay for a bit, but I was not at my peak of fitness, wasn't dancing all the time, whilst he was promoted to a Soloist. I thought that Tess might, that a baby would bring us…." Her head bent lower and I could see the streaks of wetness running down her face. My instinct had been right; there was more to Ali's depression then Tess interrupting her nights.

"Ali," my mother's voice was gentle. "I am sorry my dear. I didn't mean to pry. Are you all right dear?"

"Yes thank you Mrs St. John," she said blinking rapidly and looking up. "I'm sorry; sometimes it is all rather overwhelming. She gave a wobbly smile and I found that it made my heart thump loudly in my chest. This woman was abandoned in love, her shit of a boyfriend obviously not caring about his girlfriend or child.

"Has he met Tess?" I asked gruffly from my chair, trying to hide the irrational wave of anger that washed through me. Her head snapped up and fire flashed in her eyes.

"No, he wants nothing to do with her. He moved out of the flat, one week before I was due; didn't bother to be there for the birth; didn't even bother to phone and find out he had for a child, instead found out from one of our friends. That is not a father, he doesn't deserve that title." There was venom in her voice.

"So where are you living now?" From the corner of my eye I noticed my mother rise from her chair, cradling the child in her arms.

"I will go and change her for you dear," she murmured as she left the room, obviously giving Ali and I some space Ali glanced over her shoulder as her child was carried from the room, anxiety briefly twisting her features, before she settled back down.

"Relax, my mother loves children," I tried to reassure. "She is desperate for Grandchildren – reminds me on regular basis." At this she let out a slight laugh.

"Oh well then, she may have Tess whenever she wants. It can all get a bit too much at times."

"Why, don't you have anyone to help you at home?"

"Not like this," Ali gestured to the room around her, the delicate wave encompassing the beautifully furnished room. "I am living in my father's house."

"So your Father is around?"

"No, I'm living in his house," she corrected. "Look, it's complicated. Basically my parents are divorced." She gave a sigh and closed her eyes and opened them fixing her stare on me. "I hardly know you Eric and here I am giving you a potted history of my life. Why?"

"Because you need someone to talk to?" I leaned forward in my chair and held her gaze. "Look Ali, talk to me if you want to. I might not know what you've been through, but I promise my life was very different a few months ago. Put it this way, I am not choosing to live with my parents. I can empathise if nothing else."

"Yeah, guess you are right there," another wayward grin peaked out as she studied my face encased in it's plastic shell, her eyes dropping to my hand that rested on my knee covered in it's neoprene bandage. "Okay, you're right, maybe I need to talk to someone. I am scared to go to the doctor, they will just stick me on antidepressants and I don't want that."

"If you let depression get hold then it is really difficult to find a way out. That is when they are useful."

"Yeah, well in my case I might never see a way out if I let myself get into that state. So what do you want to know? If you insist on being a kangaroo psychologist."

"I don't, I never said that, I just have morbid curiosity as to why you, a talented dancer seems to be sitting on my living room floor looking ready to cry her heart out and yet claim that you are not unhappy or depressed."

"I never claimed that, I just said I didn't want to tell the doctor that as I don't want to go on chill pills." She huffed slightly, before stretching her legs out in front of her, bending and flexing her feet. "Look Eric, it was really kind of you to invite me back and your Mom to look after Teresa like that for me, but I think I've outstayed my welcome and really need to get going. It's time for her nap.

_No, no. Ali I know how you feel please talk to me, don't push me away. Please listen to me, talk to me. I want to get to know you better. _"Okay then, I understand." I pushed myself up and stood over her, holding out my strong hand to pull her up with. She took it and rose to her feet so gracefully that I barely felt the tug on my arm.

"Thanks Eric, look, don't be sour with me. I just don't want to burden you with my problems, I'm sure you have enough of your own." We moved through to the kitchen and found my mother had sorted out the baby as she had promised.

It seemed awkward after that. The moment of intimacy had vanished and we didn't no what to say to each other. "Thank you Eric, Mrs St John," she smiled at both of us. "Hope to see you again soon."

"Come over whenever you want dear," my mother said, briefly giving her a hug. I was rather shocked, my mother never warmed to anyone that quickly usually.

"Thanks." She turned and smiled at me. "Hope to see you again sometime Eric, maybe in the coffee shop."

"Yeah, "I agreed, opening the door for her.

"Well bye," I could not place the sad note in her voice, she was obviously pissed off with me, but she was the one leaving, I wanted her to stay. And then she was gone.

My mother leant against the worksurface. "That was slightly unusual Eric, I will grant you that, but she seems a lovely girl. Are you going to see her again? Did you get her phone number?"

"No, I…" I trailed off realising my stupidity. "Oh bugger I should have, don't even know where she lives. Shit…" I ignored my mother flinching at my language as I ran out in the rain to look for Ali. She was just getting into the car as I jogged up to her and knocked on the window.

"I don't have your number," I panted, noticing that her eyes were once again full of tears. At my request she let out a wobbly smile and I typed the number into my mobile as she quoted it to me. "I'll call you, promise," I called as she pulled out the driveway, waving at me standing in the rain, not understanding how I was feeling.

"Well" my mother commented as I went back into the kitchen, once again bedraggled by the rain. "I think this might be the start of something Eric."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I awoke with a start, driven suddenly from dreams to find my room awash with a beam of sunlight determinedly shinning through a crack in the curtains. My head was groggy; stuffed with cotton wool due to the lingering effect of the cocktail of medication I was on. Drugs to cheer me up; drugs to stop the pain; drugs to stop the itching.

I clambered out of my narrow single bed that I had slept in when I was a boy and moved over to the window, shivering as I went. The sun may be shining, but the temperature was still cool and I felt the cold more then I used to – apparently another side effect of the skin grafts. Pausing to throw one of the blankets on the end of my bed around my shoulders, I drew the curtains – looking down onto a sunlit garden.

The rain had left everything with a sparkling cleanliness, highlighting the clusters of snowdrops under the trees at the edge of the garden and the first of the crocus that were starting to emerge in swathes across the lawn. The garden was my parents pride and joy, one of the reasons they were willing to rattle around in this large old house, rather then move to something more compact and suited to just the two of them.

A knock at the door interrupted my musing and seconds later it opened, my father bearing a cup of tea for me. Some things never changed; he had always bought me a cup of tea, waking me up for school before he left for work. "Hello Ric, "he said wandering over to me at the window and handing over the mug.

"Morning Dad," I croaked, my vocal cords parched. I cradled the mug and took a sip, trying to keep the blanket over my shoulders so I would not start shivering and spill the hot drink over the carpet.

I looked at my father, who stood there, obviously gathering words in his mind before he spoke. This was so like him, studied, thoughtful and consistent. I snuck a glance at him, seeing for the first time how his hair, once always as dark as mine was now solid grey, lines on his face; lines that seemed to have deepened since I had moved back home. Yet he still stood erect, perfectly presented for his day at the office in a suit and tie – no dressing down for him.

"I have rather mucked up," he finally said, putting his hands into his pockets and meeting my eyes directly. "I didn't realise you had an appointment at the hospital today and I've booked your mother's car in for a service. I would get her to drop me at the office but I have a meeting today off site so need it." He paused, studying me, waiting for me reaction.

"Oh," I knew what he was insinuating even though he had not spoken the words. I had not driven a car since my accident, my beloved Porsche having been turned into a crushed mess of metal. Since then I had been unable to drive, at first physically and now as soon as I sat behind the wheel of a car I could feel the panic rise in my body. I knew it was a mental block that I had to overcome, but did not have the emotional strength at the moment.

"You could get the train and then a taxi to the hospital," he suggested quietly, obviously reading my silence. "Or why not ask that friend of yours Ali, she might take you. Your mother said she would look after her baby."

It seemed as if Mum was plotting. I had not seen or spoken to Ali for two days, not sure how she might react. Our acrimonious parting the other day had left me feeling unsure of how she felt for me; and more importantly me for her. Instead I had taken the cowards way out and had texted her my thanks for the trip home and left it at that. There had been no reply, so I chose to ignore her in return. It was easier then trying to analyse my feelings.

"I'll see," I replied gruffly to my father, who nodded clearly glad to have dealt with the subject.

"Well good luck at the hospital, I am sure it will be encouraging," he said as he turned to leave. "How long is it now?"

"Six months, three weeks and five days," I answered, "but whose counting?" My response elicited a snort of humour from Dad who finally left me in peace to start my morning routine. It took over two hours to get up and ready myself these days, starting with a range of exercise intended to increase my mobility and stop the scarring from impeding movement.

It was getting easier all the time, from the basic and broad movements involving flexing my hands, neck and legs to the more demanding and strenuous exercises involving the finer movements of my fingers and muscles. However the morning exercises were always the most difficult, the skin having had a chance to contract during the night.

Almost seven months of inactivity had diminished a toned muscular body into a thin; weedy frame more reminiscent of a teenage youth then a man in their thirties. Despite my mother regularly pushing food on me, my body took on an emaciated look, my bones uncomfortably jutting out where once they had been corded muscle and bicep. However I barely afforded them a glance as I prepared myself for the most important part of my routine.

Safely ensconced in the bathroom I started to carefully remove the blasted pressure garments that I had been fitted with. Tight shorts that rather resembled the cycling shorts I had once owned were pulled off and I examined the scar on the top part of my thigh. It was defiantly looking better I noted with clinical disinterest. This was unlike the side of my body from rib to shoulder and then down the arm, here the scar was still raised, the burning had been at its fiercest and my body suffered accordingly. And finally with trembling fingers I removed my mask in front of the mirror, critically turning my head from side to side, forcing myself to acknowledge the reality.

In a detached sort of way there was a horrific beauty to the redness that marred one half of my face. The burn spread across my forehead and down one cheek, luckily not touching my eyes or nose – there I had been lucky – if that is what you could call it.

I grimaced at my reflection, forcing my mouth into a variety of postures, not caring how stupid I was making myself look; just attempting to keep my skin moving and not form a hard shell on my face. Finally after twenty minutes of pulling stupid faces in the mirror I stopped, my cheeks and body aching.

I tossed all the garments into the bathtub washed and creamed my body and automatically started to don the fresh set of garments lovingly cleaned by my mother. I had started my day at seven and it was now past nine in the morning and I could hear my mother moving around downstairs. Time to approach her and ask her about Dad's comment.

Arms full of sweaty clothing, I made my way downstairs, pausing to scoop the mail off the mat and add it to my already full load. Without even realising what I was doing I started humming softly under my breath, the music automatically jumping into my brain.

"Good morning darling, you sound happy." _Happy, how can I be happy?_

"I'm okay," was my response as I stuffed the clothes into the machine and dumped the mail on the table.

"Was that ballet music you were humming?" I turned and look at her, seeing her eyebrows raised as if my musical choice was of note.

"Um, not sure," it was so automatic that I hadn't even noticed my choice of music, let alone consciously tried to whistle it.

"Yes defiantly, it was part of the Rose Adagio – I am sure of it!" A smile broadened her face. "You weren't thinking about anyone in particular were you?"

"Oh for fuck sake's Mum, just say it – was I humming ballet music because I was thinking of Ali? I know that's what you want to ask." My good mood evaporated with her prying and it was only as it did that I realise that I had been achieving a level of contentment if not happiness.

My mother flinched at my language. "Eric don't swear," she said calmly. "I didn't mean it that way and if you can't take a bit of light teasing…" She turned from me and focused her attention on the mail; ripping opening an envelope with more force then was truly necessary. _Oh boy, she is pissed off with me. _I tried to cover up the slight embarrassment by moving around the kitchen, pouring cereal into a bowl before sitting down and eating my breakfast in silence, not arguing or raising the issue further.

"Goodness, how sweet," her words broke the silence and I looked up expectantly, waiting to be told the latest news from the family, or the town, or hear whatever the gossip was that had just been passed to my mother. Instead she handed me the little postcard she had just read. "Here, look."

I took it from her, not registering the address at the top, before scanning the four sentences written on the card. It was from Ali, thanking my mother for her help the other day. A momentary anger surged through me. _She writes to my mother but ignores me. _"That's nice of her," I commented gruffly, handing it back to Mum with a slight shrug of my good shoulder.

"So that is where she lives," my Mother commented, studying the address at the top. It was obviously headed stationary from where she was staying.

"You know it?"

"Yes, 'The old Vicarage', in Warlington – that beautiful ivy covered house on the corner," she continued when I stared at her blankly. Suddenly I knew where she was talking about. Warlington was a little village a few miles from the town, very picturesque and highly desirable to live in. I was surprised that Ali lived there. "Beautiful house, but owned by the most awful man," my Mother continued.

"Well, that must be Ali's father then. She told me she was living in her Father's house."

"I'm surprised, I didn't think he had children," Mum mused, taping into her vast knowledge of the local population. "Although, that might be with his current wife, rather cold fish, whenever we ask her to help out with church flowers or the cake stall she never does."

"Ah, snubs the local WI does she," I replied flippantly, amused at her idea of social disgrace. She chose to ignore me and went on with her verbal recall.

"Yes that's it, she is his second wife, a good ten years younger then him or so, think she might be foreign. His first wife was an American, lovely woman, very glamorous and they had two small children, boy and a girl."

"One of whom must be Ali then," I summarised. "She said her parents were divorced and she was living in her father's house. Obviously her Mother lives in America and that is why she cannot stay with her.

"I assume so, although I don't remember an Alison, I think they were Christine and Benjamin. But then I could be wrong. You use to play with them occasionally."

"Did I?" I was shocked. Ali could be a long lost friend then. The possibility made me want to contact her even more. I took a mouthful of soggy cornflakes and mused over the situation.

"So why don't you call her?" Mum called as she wandered out the room, obviously taking advantage of me having my mouth full to put forward her suggestion. There was little I could do but glare in reply and by the time I had swallowed she was out of earshot and couldn't hear my muttered curses.

Finishing the bowl I cleaned up after myself and then sat down with a sigh. Normally this was when I would talk a walk into town, go and buy the paper, have a coffee and pretend that my life was normal and happy. Instead today I was fidgety, unable to go about my usual routine.

In my old life, a few hours composing would have driven any jumpiness out of me, but now attempting to play the piano was a laughable attempt, my fingers not obeying the commands. The violin was worse, for I could not even curl my hand around to hold the bow. Occasionally I wrote down the odd phrase or passage that came into my head, clumsily holding the pen so that the writing resembled that of a small child, but at the moment the patience required was sorely lacking.

Instead I eyed my mobile sitting on the table, willing it to ring. I could not understand the reluctance I felt to speak with Ali, after all I never use to have this problem with women. But then I used to see them as no more then playthings, often talented ones. Apart from a violent and passionate few months at music school I had never been in a serious relationship. It was easier to remain detached where women were concerned.

But that was my old life, one where I knew I was wanted for my looks, talent and the opportunities that I could offer to people. Now I had nothing except a rather messed up mind and body with a bedroom at my parents. Oh sure, my flat was still there the mortgage being paid from savings and I ostensibly was on sick leave from work, so was technically still employed – but without the ability to charm, persuade and pursue I was no more then an empty shell of what I use to be.

Yet, despite all this Ali still seemed to want to talk to me, be my friend and I wanted it in return. "Bugger, bugger, bugger," I swore out loud to the kitchen and before I could condone or condemn my actions I picked up the phone and called her.

"Hello," the voice that answered was slightly sleepy.

"Ali," There was a pregnant pause before she replied.

"Hi Eric."

"Did I wake you?"

"Hmm, no not really, Tess was asleep and I was cat napping on the sofa. She had a not so good night. How you?"

"Okay," I paused wondering how to ask the question, not use to being in a begging position. "I have a favour to ask."

"Go ahead," she yawned down the phone line.

"Could you or I should say would you mind taking me to the hospital this afternoon, I am without transport?" _There I said it!_

"What time do you need to be there? Tess goes for a nap about twelve and then needs a bottle at two."

"Um one, but Mum said she would look after her, if you could take me. The car is in the garage, but I would pay your petrol." There was another pregnant pause as she weighed up the offer.

"Yeah okay then, I assume you are talking about the Queen Victoria?"

"How did you know?"

"Well isn't that where burns patients are treated around here?"

"So do you mind? I realise that it's not a hop, skip and jump." I waited with baited breath. After all I was asking her to drive nearly an hour there and back.

"Go one then, if you Mum will look after Tess. " She laughed slightly. "Bit of a treat really."

The sunshine added to the feeling of cheer as Ali and I drove off later that day, leaving my mother literally holding the baby. I pushed the front seat as far back as it would go to accommodate my legs and sat there, occasionally shooting looks at Ali. The whine of the car as it drove along the motorway was drowned out by gurgled ballet music pouring from the tape player. It didn't leave much room for conversation.

"Thanks for doing this for me," I ventured finally.

"No problem," she turned and flashed me a quick smile before concentrating on the road again. "Like I said, it's a bit of a treat to be away from Tess, which sounds so callous, but when it is only you and no break." She sighed heavily before yawning.

"Couldn't you put her with a childminder for a few hours a week? It would let you catch up on sleep or some time to yourself."

"Can't afford it. I mean I am on maternity leave and so am getting a bit of money, but nothing extra."

"And won't your father help you? Tess is his granddaughter after all."

"Yeah right." She laughed bitterly. "He has only seen her a couple of times. Nah, my father isn't the paternal sort. He is letting my stay at his house as long as I keep out of his and his wife's way. I'm actually in the Granny annexe."

"What?" I was slightly stunned. Use to the largess of my parents I could not believe how callous her own father could be to his daughter and grandchild. To not even allow them to stay in his own house. "But didn't you grow up there?" I stuttered.

"What, at the Vic? Yes and I could go back to my old bedroom but the granny annexe is much easier, own kitchen, own bathroom – I don't feel like I have to be so invisible." She paused and could obviously tell I was shocked. "You know Eric, if you've never had it, you don't miss it. Dad has never been demonstrative, therefore, most of the time it doesn't bother me that he cannot care less, that's just life."

"If your father is so cold to you, why are you staying with him and not your mother?"

"Hmm, well Mom lives in the States, so does my brother, they both moved back there when Mom and Dad got divorced, but by then I had a place at the Royal Ballet School and didn't want to give it up. The only option was to remain here with my father as my legal guardian."

"You could go back to her now though, couldn't you?"

"Yeah, I hold a dual passport, but she lives in the middle of nowhere and all the ballet is still in the big cities, so I would be no better off – possibly worse as I would be without any friends or people who know me. I do have a job in this country, I just need to figure out how I can do it and look after Tess."

"Hmm," I was at a loss to give advice, realising her predicament. I assumed the world of ballet, like the world of music; was cut throat, several applications for every place that was available meant that you could not argue with the hours or regime for there was always someone willing to take your place.

We finally pulled into the car park at the hospital and found a space. "Do you want me to come in with you? How long are you going to be?"

"About an hour or so," I replied. "It's up to you, I can meet you back here if you want." I tried to sound nonchalant about her presence, when in reality I desperately wanted her support. The assessment and subsequent physio was always difficult for me and it was nice to have a friendly face to come out to. Mom didn't realise how much I depended on her being there usually.

Ali glanced my way, a knowing look entering her eyes before she gave a small smile. "I'll stay, I've bought a good book with me and it is rather a luxury to sit and read with no interruption." I nodded in reply, too wound up to verbalise my thanks. The waiting room was silently stuffy, several people sitting quietly, many with the same predicaments at me. We tactfully avoid looking at each other, for to do so may have been to leave the safety zones we had built around us. Instead the room was filled with the quite hum of the water cooler and the squeak of the nurses' shoes on the rubber floor.

"Hmm, it's amazing how all hospital departments are the same" Ali murmured into my ear. "This is almost like the antenatal unit where I had Tess."

"Although not so many pregnant people," I returned quietly, causing her to snort with laughter.

"Tended to be more women there are well, strangely enough and really bad reading material, tons of parent and baby magazines, very depressing."

"What more then this," I gestured towards the shabby paper I held in my hands, a picture of a smiling woman gracing the cover and exclamations on how to bake the perfect cake, find the best swimwear for your figure and other banal headlines.

"Interesting choice of reading," Ali snorted again with laughter.

"Actually there was a recipe in her that Mum was reading when she was last in, I thought I would tear it out for her."

"Eric, you vandal, destroying hospital property!" I never had a chance to formulate an appropriately crushing reply for a young nurse called my name out.

"Eric," she paused and looked at the clipboard frowning. "Eric Saint John," she finally called, causing me to wince at her butchering of my surname and Ali to subside into a further fit of giggles. I rose from my chair and quietly walked up to her.

"It's pronounced Sinjin," I said quietly, not wishing to cause her embarrassment. Eric Sinjin." She looked at me and blushed, before leading me off to the torture of an hour's physiotherapy.

I was assessed, pushed exercised and prodded for over sixty minutes, leaving me emotionally and physically exhausted. Despite doing everything that I had been told, the nurse still frowned at my body.

"It is healing Eric, healing quite well, but you must keep doing the exercises, small ones every two hours and then a longer session morning and evening. You also need to put on more weight. Have you tried those protein shakes yet?" She paused and fixed me with a gimlet eye. I looked down at the floor and shook my head, a shiver running through my body at the same time. I was almost surprised to feel a tear running out of my eye as she squeezed my good hand. "It will come my dear, never worry, you're doing a grand job. I can't believe you are the same person as the one that walked out of here over five months ago. Now do you have any questions?"

I shook my head mutely, too exhausted to continue the conversation and silently stood up, murmured my thanks and left, seeking Ali out, desperate to return home. I was always emotionally drained after these sessions and whilst thankful that Ali had driven me and I didn't have to take the train home, dearly wished Mum was there instead.

Ali saw me coming and stood up, sticking her dog-eared paperback back into her handbag. "All finished, you look beat," she said kindly with a smile. I widened my cheeks at her in return, a poor excuse for a smile, but was feeling too battered to interact.

The drive home was sheer hell, all I wanted to do was sleep or cry, try and get the emotions of exhaustion off my chest. Having given everything at the appointment, I felt drained. I leant back in the seat and felt a few drops of moisture trickle out of my eyes.

"It was tough wasn't it," Ali said quietly, turning the radio off.

"Yeah," I murmured quietly, looking at my reflection in the window of the car, not wanting her to see my vulnerability.

"I don't know about you, but sometimes when I just have pushed myself beyond all limits, I just want to curl up in a ball and howl my heart out," she commented insightfully. "Used to as well occasionally, after a really shit class or something. There is sometimes only so much the body can take and then when it is beyond that it drains the soul as well. I don't know if you agree."

I turned my head back towards her, a hesitant curl on my lips, amazed at her intuition and understanding. "You give all and it strips away the layers of reserve you use to protect yourself," I added.

"So all that is left is a little naked part of you, yelling and screaming for all it is worth." She summarised my emotions, flashing me another of her smiles, the action speaking more then the words, showing me that she understood my predicament, knew how I was feeling. And with the knowledge that I was sharing my emotions, the pain started to recede.

It was nearly four o'clock by the time we reached my house again and Ali hurried anxiously into the house, with me hot on her heels. We rushed as a pair into the living room only to witness my mother sitting on the floor, singing away to the baby. In return Tess was giggling merrily. It was a cosy little scene.

"Eric, Ali," my mother laughed at us, crowding the doorway, staring in agog at her. "She has been an absolute angel, slept for two hours and has just finished her bottle, so we were having a little singsong." She clambered to her feet, cuddling the infant close. "We've had a good time, haven't we darling, but now it's time to go back to mummy."

She held Tess out to Ali who took literally danced into the room, clasping her baby and twirling around, eliciting another laugh from Tess. "Hello my darling Teresa," she said, rubbing her nose against the baby's. "Did you miss Mommy, did you darling?"

I hung back, not wishing to intrude on the reuniting of mother and child, not quite sure of my role. Ali and I had formed a bond over the past few hours, but now faced with the evidence of another part of her life I felt that I was surplus. She didn't need me and all my shit to cope with as well.

I slunk back out of the room and into the kitchen, pulling off my coat and throwing it over the back of the chair before putting the kettle on, keeping my gaze trained on the worksurface, trying not to let emotions well over me again.

"Eric," my mother's voice was soft and I turned, collapsing into her smaller frame, the tears that had been threatening earlier finally flowing out as I sobbed into her shoulders. "Shhh," her words comforted me. "It's okay darling, it's okay." I nodded against her comforting warmth, feeling her rubbing my back as if I were still her little boy looking for comfort. Finally I raised my head and sniffed, leaning back against the counter. "Was it a difficult session?"

"Yeah," my voice was hoarse, rough with emotion as I went to wipe my eyes, unable to easily reach the moisture. With a sigh I undid the tight strapping and eased the plastic from my face, carefully dabbing at the skin with the soft tissue. My mother watched silently. "I had better go and put more cream on it," I excused myself, clutching the mask in my hand and went upstairs to try and compose myself.

Once again it was the cowards way out, but I couldn't face Ali, didn't want to let her see my weakness and knew that my mother would cover for me. I stood on the landing, hearing her exchange words with my mother, listening to my parent apologise on my behalf and Ali quietly showing her understanding.

Moving silently to the shadows at the top of the stairs, I gazed down on them, saw my mother exchange a hug, kiss the baby and wave goodbye to them out the door, leaving me alone with my painful body and muddled thoughts once more.


	6. Chapter 5

**Apologies for the lack of feedback and Author's notes with this story - I keep forgetting to add them in.**

**Thank you for all your reviews - they are always welcome - as much to feed my ego and keep me writing as anything else, so please keep on posting them.**

**Another chapter where our two damaged goods continue to bump along together; as well as a few tips for driving a manual (stickshift) car!**

**Hope this keeps you happy for a while as I am going on holiday and not sure how much time I will get to write, so without further ado - please enjoy!**

Chapter 5

Sleep is a balm to the mind and soul and once Ali had left the house, I fell onto my bed exhausted, closing my eyes and drifting off for over two hours. It was only my mother repeated calls that woke me for supper.

As it has always been in my youth, we sat down as a family to supper at the kitchen table, when my father returned home from work. Conversation had always been topical and amusing all of us participating in the discussion. The scenario had not exactly been replicated on my untimely arrival at home. At first, mealtimes were battlegrounds for me, as I had to learn to move my mouth in order to eat, grip the cutlery again and feed myself. Often exhausted with the trials of the day I was mentally unprepared to participate in the civilised discussions of my parents.

However, now, as I was healing things began to return to normal and we once again gathered around the table as a family. "How did your appointment go today Ric?" My father asked, helping himself to the carrots and passing me the dish. I stupidly reached out my right hand to grab it, my fingers failing to close around the crockery properly and winced as it went crashing to the table, thankfully unbroken.

"Okay," I shot a look at my mother, wondering if she had said about my reaction on returning home.

"And I took it Ali took you?"

"Yeah, it was very kind of her and Mum looked after Teresa." I added haltingly.

"Good, good," A mouthful of chicken was chewed as he considered his next question and I found myself hanging on the silence, not sure where the topic of conversation might go. "I heard she is living over in de Theale's place, The Old Vicarage."

"You know him?" I could not hide my astonishment; amazed that someone who I thought was a stranger could have a life so embroiled in my parent's.

"Hmm," if disapproval could be reduced to one word, then my father just sounded it. "I don't _know_ him per se, but we both worked in the city for years. He was at Lloyds, made an awful lot of money and was completely obnoxious with it." My father disapproved of the usual city mentality, faithfully coming home to his wife and family every evening, rather then living it up, as was the case of some men. I always thought that if he had really known what my former life had been like he would have disapproved thoroughly, for it was rather similar to many of his colleagues and peers.

"I don't think Ali has a very good relationship with him," I tried to rescue her from being mentally tarred with the same brush. "She told me that she only stayed in England to attend ballet school, otherwise she would have moved back to America to live with her mother."

"Really," Mum interjected. "Imagine being that dedicated to your career and at such an early age," she sighed. "I would love to see her dance sometime." She gave a hesitant giggle. "In fact I do have a confession to make – my curiosity was piqued when she told us what she did, so I went and looked on the Internet and found out about her, very interesting."

"You used the internet?" _Mum must really want to know about Ali. _I am not sure which revelation astounded me more.

"Yes, I do know how to you know," she sounded disgruntled at my amazement. "Anyway, you know she is actually a First Artiste with the Royal Ballet, even though she talked of it as if it were nothing and she has danced quite a few major roles in Swan Lake, Cinderella, La Sylphide and all sorts. I didn't know some of the names. It also said that she created some of her own roles. I got the impression that she was going places with them you know."

"Did it say how old she was?" Despite my initial reluctance I found myself indulging in my mother's knowledge.

"No, only that she joined the company in 1999 from the school, so I guess that makes her twenty-six, twenty-seven?" She paused and shrugged her shoulders, shooting me a look that I could not interpret.

Dad seemed to realise that my Mother was on a dangerous tack as he cleared his throat imperiously, drawing attention away from her chosen topic of conversation. "Did you discuss driving again at the hospital today Ric?" he coaxed gently.

"Um yeah," I looked down at my half eaten dinner, feeling my appetite slip away. The memories of the accident had been called to the fore, partially causing my distressed state of mind that afternoon. "They were trying to encourage me to drive again. Apparently I may have a bit of post-traumatic stress and that's stopping me." I grimaced at the thought.

"I happen to agree Ric," his words came as a blow to my calmness. "It is rather like riding a bike, you have to get back on, however scary it is. After all, you didn't cause the accident."

"Oh yeah," I shouted, jumping up from the table, causing the dishes and plates to rattle. "Sure, I didn't actually crash the car, but you know I was over the limit. If I had been sober then I might have stopped in time."

"I doubt it you know," Dad's words were quiet and his eyes bore into mine in the silence. "Sit down son, getting excited is not going to help." He waited until I once again resumed my place at the table. "What I was going to say is that as it is the weekend tomorrow why don't we go up to the old airfield and take a spin on the road there. It will be empty and then you can just try getting use to driving again, don't have to worry about the traffic or pedestrians or anything that gets in the way of enjoying being in a car. What do you think?"

I bowed my head; ashamed at the way I had spoken to both my parents. "Okay thanks," I said gratefully, trying to hide the elation and fear that flooded through me at the thought.

I awoke early the next day, filled with dread and panic at the forthcoming driving lessons. Whilst I was desperately worried about getting behind the wheel of a car again, the thought of driving, of regaining a degree of my lost independence was enough to spur me on.

I clambered out of bed, knowing that once I was awake there was no point trying to regain lost sleep. I would become aware of the scratching, aware of the slight chill that hung in the room and would toss and turn instead of gaining peace through slumber. No, it was much better to rise and get the routine of the morning out of the way and sleep in the afternoon if I got drowsy, which was often; a side effect of the drugs.

I automatically reached for the pile of pills next to my bed, about to pop the foil wrappers and wash them down with water, when my hand hesitated. One positive of my visit to hospital yesterday was the joint decision to slowly wean myself off anti-depressants. They had been necessary in the early days, for everyone feared that I would give in to the overwhelming desire to finish what the car accident had failed to do and try to die. Instead a couple of small white pills a day, allowed me to put my situation into perspective.

I could understand what Ali was going through, for I had been there myself. Staring into the darkness of the future and seeing no hope, no relief, only the purgatory of life in its current state. It was like trying to walk in quicksand, not waving but drowning, and the drugs just gave you a foothold.

_Oh Ali, if I manage to drive again, I can come and see you and Tess. _The thought was so automatic that it did not strike me until five minutes later that my friend and her baby were a major motivation in regaining my wheels. _Friend, is she really a friend, do you really know her? _My rational voice argued with my emotions, denying me the comfort of companionship. _She is my friend, she has done more for me in the past week then most of more so-called 'friends' in London ever did. And besides, I love her_.

I froze in the act of creaming my body and stood up straight, confusion and elation flooding my body at the same time. _Do I love her? Do I really look upon this woman as more then a friend? _I hesitantly tested my feelings, allowing myself to dwell on the few brief hours we had spent in each other's company. Yes, the feeling of joy when I thought of her did not diminish upon further study, but instead swelled to something bigger, greater.

We were both battered and bruised with the blows that life had dealt us and maybe that helped the attraction, but there was something in her look, something in her manner that I could not resist. _But I must get to know her better, I must not scare her my declaring my interest so early on._

I was not use to being in love. I had reduced my desire for the opposite sex to a clinical disinterest, as I found it easier to deal with the women who use to throw themselves at me. I knew they all saw me as a ticket to stardom, so I learnt to see them as objects of beauty and nothing else.

But now I was in love with someone as a whole. It was not their appearance, for I had not seen Ali look anything other then tired and slightly bedraggled, but instead an inner glow. I suddenly realised why people put so much faith in love, for the world seemed to be lit up in glorious technicolor.

Finishing getting dressed, I moved downstairs singing softly under my breath, not caring that my parents might hear, nor that the song was utterly corny.

_I feel it in my fingers,_

_I feel it in my toes,_

_Love is all around us_

_And so the feeling …_

"Good morning darling!" My Mother greeting was bright and breezy as she caught my mood. She smiled widely at me and I returned the gesture as best I could, my skin widening into a genuine smile. The move reinforced her theory that I was very happy and she dared continue. "Looking forward to later Eric?"

"Hmm yes," I said with new founded enthusiasm, geared by my revelation of being in love. Suddenly I was desperate to drive, so that I could spend more time in Ali's company.

"Well, eat your breakfast, your father is ready when you are," she chided softly, handing me a plate with a cooked breakfast on. "I thought you would like something special," she smiled as I stared at the bacon and eggs, not quite sure what to say.

"Thanks." Despite the special treat, I shovelled the food into my mouth, chewing rudimentarily and swallowing hastily, causing myself to choke as large pieces of bacon where forced down. Despite it's tastiness, it was simply keeping me from my wheels.

Therefore it was only a mere fifteen minutes later that I rushed out the door, pulling on my coat and chiding my father to hasten towards his car. "Ric, what is the rush?" he asked with genuine bewilderment, obviously recalling my actions last night, against the undue haste I was using this morning.

I sat in the car, my good hand tapping a rhythm out on my knee as I waited for him to climb in. It seemed hours before he finally got into the car and we made our way to the airfield, several miles outside of town.

My father drove steadily and carefully, much the same way he spoke and acted; his moves deliberate and judged. He was an excellent driver, not allowing the emotions of the moment or the actions of other people put him off his road space. On the other hand I was nearly tearing my hair out in panic and excitement as we drew nearer and nearer the airstrip.

Once used as a World War II airbase, the field was more or less deserted, occasionally put into action for the odd private plane to land and the annual summer airshow, but most of the time it played host to a predriver school for learners and a variety of car exhibits. There was a strip of perimeter road, away from the main traffic that many parents would come to teach their children the rudimentaries of car handling without being on the road and it was to here that my father drove the car.

It was early in the morning and the strip was abandoned, the dew still glittering on the grass, disturbed only be the odd magpie, which I was glad to see were hopping around in pairs and groups. No solo birds to bring me sorrow this time.

"Are you sure you want to do this Ric?" Dad asked as he parked the car and switched off the engine, the road gleaming empty in front of us. "I don't want to push you into something just because everyone else says you should do it."

"No, no, it really is time that I faced this," I gabbled, a slightly wild gleam in my eye that he assessed.

"Well firstly just calm down. I'm not worried about you handling the car as you can drive and there is nothing to drive into, but I would still rather you didn't remodel the bumpers."

"Mmm," I took a deep breath in and opening the door stood up inhaling the fresh air of the late winter's morning. Firmly wrapped against the cold, I didn't feel the chill, instead saw the beauty of the day ahead. Thoroughly high on this emotion I walked around the car and got in behind the wheel, fastening the seatbelt and starting the car before my mind could overtake my positive feeling.

I eased the clutch out, pressed down lightly on the accelerator and let the car move forward, the engine purring under my foot, gaining speed and moving through second and third gear. The elation of driving again, of moving a pile of metal under my guidance, of speed and freedom. I pressed the accelerator a little harder and moved into fourth gear as I approach a gentle bend in the track.

And suddenly out of no where a flash of light came, panic flooded through my body and in front of my eyes I saw a ghost car spin out of control, crashing violently into the side of a nonexistent bridge. The screech of metal, the yells of the people, the crunch as my car skidded to a halt, knowing that it would not stop in time.

"Fuck!" I slammed the brakes on; leaving skid marks down the centre of the tarmac as the car skidded to a halt and sat there at the wheel shaking and shivering, blindly reliving the accident.

"It's all right son, calm down," Dad's voice quietly dented my relapse. I opened my eyes and looked at him, my breathing laboured; my head buzzing.

"I can't, can't, no…" the words came out choked and I leant back in the driver's seat, breathing deeply trying to push the images from my mind.

"That's fine; we can stop if you want to."

"No!" I sat forward and opened my eyes. "No, I am determined to do this Dad, I can't let it control me." I gripped the steering wheel again and restarted the stalled engine, carrying out a three-point turn with a degree of difficulty as I did not have the flexibility in my upper body to easily turn. No wonder they said driving was good physical therapy.

"It seemed to effect you as you picked up speed," Dad observed astutely as I sat there, gazing at the stretch of road ahead of me, the light dancing on the distance ahead. "So when you reached about forty miles an hour try and concentrate on something else and not the actual speed you are doing.

"Okay," I set the car off again, moving through the gears, gradually picking up speed as I pressed down on the accelerator. Thirty miles an hour and I moved into fourth gear, the speedometer climbing. Fifty miles an hour and I shifted up into fifth gear, allowing the speed to overtake me, seeing the grass move by in a blur and I let out an unmanly whoop of delight at my achievement. Coming around the corner I pushed the clutch in, eased off the accelerator and moved down into third gear, so that I could safely cruise around the bend, before bringing the car to a halt.

I was shaking, only this time with elation as I looked at my father, a wide grin on my face with no regard for the pain it caused.

"Well done Ric, that was bloody fantastic," my father patted my arm and I realised that he was swelling over with pride to swear as he had. As the trembling stopped and the adrenalin rushing through my body calmed down I took a deep breath. "Why don't we practice a couple of manoveres and then you can drive us home," he suggested, realising that I wasn't about to relinquish my hard earned place behind the wheel.

My mother rushed out to greet us as I pulled into the driveway, her arms outstretched and a smile on her face, as if we had been gone for months and not a little over an hour. I clambered out of the car and gathered her into my embrace, trying to convey how grateful I was for all that both she and Dad had done for me over the past few months.

We trooped into the house and sat in the living room, drinking tea and conversing lightly. I sat in my usual chair, reading the Saturday papers and listening to the conversation, trying to judge an appropriate amount of time to let pass before I went out again. Finally a jumpy half an hour later I looked up from my perusal of the crossword and asked the question as blandly as I could. "Mum, is it okay if I borrow your car?"

She looked at me with a slight smile. "I suppose we shall be in competition for the keys now. Where do you want to go?"

"Um, I thought I'd just go over and see Ali and Tess," Damn, knew I would have to reveal my plans.

"All right then, but wait a moment, I have a shepherd's pie I cooked for her and some cake."

"Mum!" I couldn't believe the way she seemed to have adopted this woman.

"Well, she is far too thin, almost worse then you."

"She is a dancer; I don't think they eat too much." I tried to put my mother off her course of feeding up the world.

"Nonsense, she needs to keep her strength up or she will never be healthy! Now let me gather it together."

I was finally able to escape with a carrier bag full of food for my friend and given the keys to my mother's little car. It was not as powerful as my father's large executive car, but still powerful and I felt the tremblings of panic as I carefully pulled out the driveway.

Thankfully I was heading in the opposite direction to most of the Saturday traffic that was driving into town. Instead I drove carefully, alert to all the potential hazards as I made my way to the small village. It was a picture postcard day as I drove past the small village green with its Saxon church and swung into the driveway of the house opposite.

I could not help but gawk slightly at the beautiful building that I pulled up outside. The original house must have been Georgian, but added on to over the years, leaving it slightly rambling in appearance, yet tied together by the ivy and wisteria that crept up the brickwork.

I got out the car, carrier bag in hand and studied the house, unsure where I might find my friend and if it were wise to knock on the front door if she was staying in the annexe.

There did not seem to be anyone else staying in the house, for only Ali's slightly broken down old car was parked in the driveway. The chance of meeting anyone else gave me the courage to walk around the side of the house, following the narrowing gravel path. Past the shade of the building the driveway once again opened into a sweep at the back with a large outbuilding that looked as if it were utilised as a garage. This was opposite a door into the house, complete with its own doorbell and post-box that made me think it was probably the entrance to Ali's house.

I was about to ring the bell when I was distracted by the sound of ballet music drifting from the outbuilding opposite. Looking up I saw upstairs windows flung wide open to the sunny day and guessed that there must be a room above the garage.

It was easy to locate the door, sitting wide open, stairs leading steeply up from a small entrance lobby. I climbed them with a degree of trepidation, aware that I had not been invited up and stood gawking at the sight I was witnessing.

The room was kitted out as a dance studio, a line of windows along one side, a barré attached below and the back wall fixed with a floor to ceiling mirror. Tess was sitting in a bouncy chair, gazing crossed eyed at a few toys dangling in front of her, whilst Ali danced away in the middle of the studio.

Her hair was pulled tightly back into a bun, her dainty body encased in a faded black leotard and tights, legwarmers pulled over the top of her pointe shoes.

I watched in amazement as she lifted her hands above her head with delicate grace and danced backwards on the tip of her shoes with tiny steps, moving so gracefully and easily that she almost seemed to be floating across the floor. Reaching the far corner of the studio she then lifted her back leg at a ninety degree angle, holding the arabesque for four beats of the music pouring out the CD player, moving her arms into another position.

The music changed in tempo and she lowered her leg, shuffling her foot against the floor before dancing across the room with a leap and hitting the floor a metre in front of me, her chest heaving with exertion.

"Eric," her voice sounded shocked, as if she had only just become aware of my presence. I could see the light fade from her eyes and realised that in similarity to when I played music, she was oblivious to all else around her as she danced. "How long have you been here?" She picked up a bottle of water on the floor near my feet and took a long swallow, rinsing the liquid around her mouth as I stood mutely in front of her, awed by the talent I had just seen on show. "How did you get here anyway?" She didn't wait for me to answer as she picked up a sweater that had been draped over on old sofa in the far corner and put it on over her leotard, before flopping down into the cushions, reaching over wearily to turn the CD player off.

"Sorry," I said finally. "I didn't mean to interrupt you, just heard the music and thought it must be you. Is this your dance studio then?" I looked around in amazement at the space.

"Hmm, sort of, it used to be the playroom when we were little, but after Ben and Mom went; Dad changed it to the studio. My stepmother became fed up of me using any available surface in the house as a barre." She leant down and undid the knot of her shoes, flexing her foot as she slipped them out of the slipper with a slight wince.

"Does it hurt?" I asked with morbid fascination, watching as she repeated the action with the other shoe and then unwound the medical tape from around her toes.

"No more then anything else in life," was her slightly tart reply, before she looked up at me with a smile. "Sorry, but you get asked that question so much. You know if a person who had never studied ballet before tried to dance en pointe then yes, they would be crying with pain, but I've trained for years and whilst it hurts you become so use to it that you barely notice anymore." She massaged her toes slightly. "It's the blisters that hurt the most, not the actually dancing." Another sigh came from her chest.

"You were amazing," I finally offered, still astounded that the girl I thought I was in love with had so much talent.

"Hardly, my teacher would throw a fit if she could see me; I was all over the place. I just thought I'd better start dancing again or I will just turn into a wobbly jelly. Much as I love Teresa, she has done no favours to my body!" She poked a finger at her taut stomach as if to prove her point.

"Well, I'm afraid that my mother is against you there," I remembered the bag clutched in my lifeless hand and opened it for her inspection holding in front of her. "Shepherd's pie, lasagne and cake."

"How sweet, yum," Ali laughed and took the bag from me, peering inside. "I was talking to her the other day about how I was so uninspired with cooking as it was only me." She tilted her head to one side. "Were you okay yesterday afternoon, you disappeared, your Mom said you'd gone to lie down."

"I was tired."

"Not surprised. Did you go and bawl your head off then?"

"What?" _Oh god she heard me crying, what must she think of me._

"Remember what we said about total exhaustion, you looked as if you needed to go and have a good cry, just wondering if you did."

"Um well," If my cheeks had been exposed they would be flushed with red. "Yeah, a bit."

"Good on you, I like a man who can verbalise his pain, rather then trying to pretend everything is all right." She laughed and stood up, releasing Tess from her chair and holding her in her arms. "Shall we go and have some milk then darling? And invite Eric for a cup of tea and some of his mother's cake? Does that sound yummy?" She laughed at the face I pulled, being addressed through a baby who drooled in response. "Would you carry her?" Ali asked and without waiting for me to reply handed me Tess.

I smiled at the child who flashed me a smile back, before reaching out and patting the plastic of my mask with a slight laugh. It was an odd feeling for no one tended to touch my face, the mask being a barrier against contact and even though I could not directly feel her touch, the pressure was welcome. "Hey Tess," I chuckled at her, bouncing her slightly in my arms until she was in a comfortable position.

"Right, come on then," I turned and looked at Ali, who had slipped her feet into a pair of slippers and gathered up the bag of food. We made an ungainly procession down the stairs, across the gravel drive and in through the door that I had correctly assumed to be the entrance to Ali's home.

The front door led directly into a living room, crammed with a playpen, sofa, small table and television. This seemed to be the centre of her living quarters for it was happily cluttered with books, music and toys for the baby.

"Come on through," she said with a nod of her head and wended her way through the toys and play mat on the floor and into the compact kitchen. I looked around in genuine surprise, for although small it was very nicely fitted.

"This is nice," I commented.

"Yeah, tell me about it – better then my flat in London - that was a real dive." She laughed slightly. "Can I just ask you to entertain Tess for a few minutes and I will just change?" She dumped the carrier on the table and slid off up a set of winding stairs, I could only assume to her bedroom.

"Well Tess," I said looking around the clean kitchen. "I take it this is your home." She made a squawk in agreement as I moved around the small space, listening to the sounds of her mother getting changed upstairs and trying not to think improper thoughts of the lack of clothing she must be wearing.

Te thought of Ali naked was almost my undoing and I closed my eyes trying to concentrate on all the passion destroying things I could think of: my parents having sex; Margaret Thatcher naked; French kissing an old granny. _French kissing Ali, mmm, that wonderful expressive mouth that seems to want to hold a smile; that beautiful taut dancers body. _I shook myself out of my reverie and smiled down at the little girl in my arms, deciding to share my secret with her.

She was exceedingly pretty, with blonde curly hair and the iridescent blue of her mother's eyes, which shone when she flashed a smile showing her wide gummy mouth. It made me wonder what her father must have looked like and for a moment I thought of enlisting Mum's help to find out.

Balancing Tess in my arms I wandered around the kitchen, humming softly under my breath and waiting for Ali, the sound of running water telling me she was showering. My secret should therefore be safe.

"Tess, I have to tell you something," I said fixing her with a stare and holding her so that she sat in my arms. "What would you say if I told you I loved your mother?"

"I would say why didn't you tell her?" the voice came from behind me and I spun around to see Ali standing at the bottom of the stairs.


	7. Chapter 6

**Apologies for the delay, should have known that I would not have any time on holiday to write. Okay, bit of a shorty here as I've split a very long chapter into two, but it does mean there should be another update in the not too distant future. Oh and apologies if there is any strange spelling, the 'h' key on my laptop isn't working properly!**

Chapter 6

I spun around, a slight gasp falling from my lips at the sound of her voice. _Damn it, how could she have overheard; I thought she was in the shower. _"Ali?"

She ignored my platitude, crossing the kitchen and standing by the kettle; her back turned to me; spine stiff and erect. She had obviously had a quick wash before changing into her normal clothes; the dark blonde hair had been freed from its regulation bun to fall around her shoulders; a slight kink showing where it had been tightly bound.

"Tea?" Her voice was unnaturally high; as if emotions were being held under tight rein.

"Ali," I started again; trying to explain the comment I had made; but hesitated as I saw the shiver that ran through her body.

"One sugar isn't it?"

"Please let me explain?" I started, shifting Teresa's weight in my arms. The silence was deafening, she gave no indication that she wished to listen to me; did not even bother turning around, but snorted at my begging. "Ali please," I parroted her name again.

"Please what?" She spun around shouting. "Please let me mouth my pointless version of love, please let me break your fragile heart! God Eric! I was just starting to rebuild my life, just starting to feel vaguely normal and you have to bring love into the equation!"

I blinked at the viciousness of her attack, wanting to argue against her dibrate, but she was too wound up to notice.

"I hardly know you Eric, know nothing about you and yet you claim that you love me!" she continued, her breath coming in gasps as if the weight of the situation was crushing her. "How can you? You simply love an idea, in fact how can it be love? I'm just someone, somewhere to put all your suppressed emotions on."

"Suppressed emotions? I do not have suppressed emotions," I roared back, infuriated by her suggestions, irate at her rejection. Unsurprisingly, Teresa took one look at me and burst into tears, causing her mother to tear her from my arms, hugging the child closely to her chest.

"Eric," Ali tried to soothe her voice, although the clash of steel was still evident beneath it. "You have been through a hell of a lot, that much is obvious – just look at you! Now you are trying to piece your life back together and you realise that love is missing, so you pin that absent emotion on to the first woman who speaks to you. It is _not_ love. You don't love me – I'm just satisfying a missing point in your humdrum existence."

I gulped at her pointed words. "You're wrong," I tried to match her calm tone, speaking quietly; not wanting to further upset the baby. "Ali, I see you as my friend – we are friends aren't we?" I held my breath and waited for her answer.

"Yes," It was the word I wanted to hear, even if its tone was sceptical.

"In my case friendship and admiration have grown, have become much more. I know what I am feeling."

"No, no you don't," she shook her head, the first waves of anger being replaced with tears that welled up in her blue eyes and spilled down her cheeks. I had to resist the urge to wipe them away. "You cannot, you should not."

"Why?" My voice was pleading, like a child denied a treat, any minute now I would start stamping my feet and yelling. _It's not fair; I want her to love me_.

"Eric, if you do love me it's doomed before it's even started. Everyone knows that two people who are thrown together in an odd situation cannot make dysfunctional relationships work. Please spare me the heartache and leave."

"What!"

"Leave, please, just go." The flow of tears grew harder and she buried her face into the soft downy hair on Tess' head, trying to hide them. I held out my hand in a final gesture of supplication, but she shook her head, refusing to talk.

The sudden weight bearing down on my chest was suffocating and the already tiny room drew in, making it even more claustrophobic. Without a word I turned on my heel and fled, away from the scene, away from the emotions that hung heavy in the air. Like I wounded dog I retreated; tail between my legs, the opposite of how I arrived, to the one place I could find peace, no matter what.

I don't remember how I got home, somehow my brain automatically took over and I returned my mother's car in one piece to an empty house. Thank heavens for small mercies; I could not stand my mother's presence at that moment, her well meaning, but annoying teasing; her unsubtle hint dropping.

I had almost forgotten what rejection felt like; how it caused the heart to wrench in pain; squeezing out every last tortured drop of emotion. Like its bedfellow; grief, it crept up and caught you in it's stranglehold before you had a chance to build up any defence; leaving you stumbling in its wake.

My recent battle had been with physical pain, but now mental anguish ran up and joined it, linking arms to further destroy my desire for peace. Ali's words reverberated in my brain, her mocking that I did not know what love was, my suppressed emotions. The thought almost made me yell with frustration and anger. For once I was trying to be honest and upfront, trying not to hide how I felt and look where it got be – well and truly spurned.

I stumbled upstairs, her words tumbling over themselves in my brain, combined with images of how I had seen her dancing, her lithe body in the leotard, the grace with which she moved. _She doesn't love me!_ Her anger scared me; but it was her tears that had broken my heart. I could not understand how my simple comment could emote such a viscous reaction and a rejection that was so complete and final that there was no hope it would ever be revoked.

My goal was a room that I had not been into since my untimely return home. Like most of the Victorian houses in the street; the house spread from cellar to attic. It was the top floor that was my aim; where I sought refugee and yet as I stood at the bottom of the narrow staircase; I was unsure if I truly wanted to go up or not.

I slowly climbed the creaking staircase and pushed open the door, hesitant about what I would find behind it. This had once been my home; my den; my retreat, where I would hang out with my friends, compose music and spend most of my teenage years.

Dazzling sunshine, shining through the gabled windows hit me and I shaded my eyes against the white walls that reflected the light, before moving across the room and lowering the blinds slightly, standing back and drinking it all in.

Gone was the dark, lair like existence I had created in here, now it was clean and clear, my posters taken down, and the sheet music that had almost had a permanent home on the floor; neatly filed. The overstuffed sofa that had doubled as my bed many a night was neatly puffed and cleaned, before being draped with a throw to hide the worst stains of food and drink that had been ground into it over the years.

My music certificates that had always been carelessly thrown into folders were now simply framed and hung on the wall, starting with my first grade piano and progressing onto the various prizes and awards that I had won as my age and ability progressed.

I could see my mother's touch everywhere, the pride with which she had tided up and sorted the remnants of my life, the slightly touching but pathetic way she had ripped out certain articles written about me in magazines and hung them alongside my certificates.

Had I really shut my parents out of my life that much in the past few years? I had religiously spoken to them, letting them know my movements but had not really relished coming home to see them. It had always been awkward, driving down from London, sitting at the table, as I was force fed Sunday lunch; usually hungover from a party the night before, my mobile doing a silent dance in my pocket as friends; colleagues and clients demanded to know where I was.

A wave of guilt spread through me; dampening down the rejection that had taken over my body and I sunk onto the sofa; taking in the appearance of the room. Despite the cosmetic cleaning the most important items were still present. In front of the windows sat a rather old, battered grand piano. My first guitar was still resting in its case, propped against the bookshelf looking as if it were in conversation with the violin that was lying on top.

My music room was still complete. Granted, the instruments I had left here were worn and old. Anything of value had been taken with me to London and it was only the few items that had been too shabby to bother with that were left. But now they greeted me like old friends, beckoning me to come and make music with them; forget all my worries as I made them sing once more.

I had not dared to come up to the attic since my accident, scared that my limited movements would simply frustrate and annoy me. It was easier to ignore the need to make music then to find I was unable to. So I had not climbed the stairs for the past six months and it was only my mother who went up her, obviously to wallow in memories and do a bit of dusting.

But now, as I shrugged my coat off and sat at the piano, I felt the desire to compose and play flood through me. The jumpiness of my fingers, the craving to create music eclipsed anything else; even my love and desire for Ali; even the pain and hurt I felt at her rejection. My mistress was once again music.

My fingers were stiff as I first began to play and a few spasms of excruciating pain shot up my right arm as I moved my digits across the keys. But I could not care less about that – pain was a small price to play for the beauty of music and the noise that swelled under my fingers tips and poured out the piano contained all the pain, heartache and anguish that I felt.

I could have played for minutes, or hours and days. Time seemed an unimportant variable when I was immersed in my world. I did not hear my parent's return, or my mother calling me down for lunch. It did not matter, I was not hungry, for the music filled my soul – food was a rather boring necessity that came second.

I played until blisters were raised and weeping on the still fragile skin of my fingertips and blood seeped out around my fingernails. I had thrown off my sweater and sat in a t-shirt, for the exertion of playing had caused me to break out in a sweat and for the first time in ages I felt hot. Perspiration ran in an uncomfortable trickle down under my mask, but I ignored it. My straggly hair; uncut for months, fell into my eyes and I cursed eloquently as I was forced to stop and hunt for something to tie it back with.

It was only as the light started to fade that I was forced to slow down; to stop and look around me; take in my surroundings and come back down to earth. It was like sobering up after taking drugs – for the very air seemed to be filled with vibration; the lights dancing with energy. My head buzzed with exhaustion and a brief glance at my watch made me realise that I had been playing for nearly five hours – it was four o'clock.

Suddenly I was aware of the discomfort of my situation. My clothes were hot and sweaty against my skin. One arm was covered with tight pressure garments from shoulder to finger knuckle and across my chest and into a high-necked collar; complemented by a similar get up on my right leg. They sat uncomfortably on top of my damp sweating skin, needing to be changed for fresh garments.

Yet I paused for a second as I drunk in the sight of the sun setting over the top of the tree line, visible from the high window. Moving off the piano stool, feeling the ache in my legs as the blood rushed back into them, I moved over to the window. Pushing it open I leant out, wanting to feel the cool breeze of a late winter's evening. Instead my masked face felt nothing.

"Bugger," the words were bit out in frustration, for I needed the change in temperature to be my anchor, letting me return to the world I had temporarily left. Hesitantly, hearing the dire warnings of the doctors in my head, I reached up and undid the Velcro straps that pinned the mask around my head, before peeling the covering off. Holding it in my hand, I once again stuck my head out of the window, gasping at the shock of fresh cool air that flowed across my fragile skin.

The tingle of coolness as it hit the undamaged left side of my face was welcome, the feeling spreading across my skin to the harder rawness of the skin graft on the right. Here the temperature change burnt, prickles of heat like shards of glass embedded in my skin. Oh the irony of fulfilling a desire and finding it causes pain.

I turned away from the window and the spectacular sunset, my mask clutched in hand, feeling slightly calmer in mind. The past few hours had allowed me to let my emotions out; so that all the grief, pain and anger that I felt was now sitting on the music rack as a scribbled score. It was not in a viewable state and I doubted that on a first playback it would do no more then offend the listener's ears, but in my heart of hearts I knew for the first time I had created a truly unique and beautiful piece of music and Ali had been my muse and the drive behind it.

For the first time since the accident I felt at peace; despite the rejection of the morning, I knew where I was going. I wanted to compose again, wanted my music out there. No more scouring the world to find and nurture other people's talents. I had more then enough money to support myself now, why should I not indulge in my first love and simply write my own music? My name was well known enough within the music industry that people would listen out of curiosity alone, so the primary problem I had come up against when I was fresh and green from music school no longer existed.

I sat back down at the piano and picked up the pencil once again. With a grimace I noticed the blood that had seeped into the grain of the wood from my fingers. _Appropriate that it is partially written in my blood._ I leant over and with a flourish wrote the title on top of the page. 'Dance for Ali.'


	8. Chapter 7

**Little bit of a filler chapter as this was the original Chapter 6 split into two, to stop it dragging on for eternity. Thank you very much for your reviews so far - very encouraging. The next update may take some time as I am without broadband (how will I cope) so it requires being able to bribe someone to let me use their internet access. Anyway, I digress, enjoy and please, please review.**

**Pips**

Chapter Seven

I have always found that optimism usually vanishes in the morning, the same way the dew on the grass disappears with the early sun. Therefore when I woke the next day, I lay in my narrow bed for a moment and tested my emotions, tried to see if the positive feeling that ennobled my body yesterday still existed.

Tentatively I thought to the piece of music that sat upstairs waiting to be dealt with and immediately excitement flooded through me. Like the day before, I knew, simply knew that this was the piece to take me back into the world that I loved, my re-entry ticket into society and possibly my admittance to Ali's heart.

It was not the same heady passion that yesterday had swept me up in it's embrace, before dumping me down, but a steady, quiet firm belief, in my ability and my talent. I needed to work on this music; I needed to let the world hear it sing out.

Glancing over at the cheap little digital clock in its plastic case that sat by my bedside I noted the time – seven o'clock. A blessed relief, I had slept a whole hour longer then normal, no doubt due to the stress and exertion of yesterday. My parents had not commented on my afternoon's absence, after all it had no doubt been obvious where I was, the music crashing through the house like a tsunami.

I cautiously wiggled my jaw, trying to ease feeling into it, hoping that it had not tightened dramatically overnight. One of the many inconveniences of the healing was that movement was crucial to keeping the skin elastic and supple. During the night it had a tendency to stiffen up and every morning was a battle to once again loosen the muscles and regain control of my limbs.

I undertook the usual routine, enjoying the silence of the morning as it allowed me to indulge in the music in my head. My parent's were still rightly fast asleep; a well deserved Sunday lie in, but I did not have the patience to indulge in such laziness, no my muse was already calling me.

Learning from yesterday I put a t-shirt on over my garments and tied my hair back, amazed at how, with six months of neglect it had grown from a short spiky cut to a dark glossy mane, the ends sweeping the rounded neck of my top. For the first time in ages I grinned at my reflection, almost startled when the face in the mirror responded. At times I could still not believe that these features were now mine; how one side of my face almost seemed to be a parody of the other.

One half; on the left, was still perfect, unmarred by the flames that had licked at my skin. A dark glossy eyebrow, that could be arched sardonically or lowered in displeasure, sat above my deep grey blue eyes. Perhaps my nose was a little too straight, but it only served to heighten the line of my mouth and the set of my chin, as well as cheekbones that I had been told a woman would kill for.

In complete ironic contrast the other half was now a mass of red. The doctor's had said they were pleased with my progress, but I could not see much to be positive about. The scars were softer after six months of almost constant pressure from the mask, but they still had a tendency to blister and the skin was still healing, merging and softening. I still had at least another year of the purgatory, possibly longer. Until the graft was soft and white there was no escaping it.

"Fuck it," I swore, for there was little else I could do about the situation and it seemed easier to mutter profanities then voice my true feelings, I would leave that to my composition. Replacing the mask, I grinned again as the bells of the church burst into song, demanding that people come to morning service. Nine o'clock then, time I was at work.

I hurried downstairs and made myself a cup of tea to take with me, turning on heel to rush upstairs to enshrine myself. I got no further then the bottom of the staircase, my socked foot resting on the first step when I paused. If one thing had startled me yesterday it was the contrition I had felt when I realised how my mother had clung on to the memories of her son and how I, in return had done so little for her and my father.

Well now it was time for all that to change. Stalking back into the kitchen I poured the hot water into the pot and laid up a tea tray for them, as I knew my mother loved, taking it upstairs with me.

"Mum, Dad," I knocked lightly on their door, hearing the lazy acceptance of my call, the thick voice of someone not quite awake or asleep. Pushing open the wood I stalked into the room, resting the weight of the tray in my left hand and trying to grasp it with my right. "I bought you some tea," I said to the couple that were struggling upright, battling with the confines of the duvet.

"Oh darling, how thoughtful," my mother sounded sleepy and yawned. "We don't deserve this."

"I was just up, gonna' play the piano, didn't want to wake you up with the music," I brushed off her thanks, even though it gave me a warm glow.

"Working on something new Ric," my father added gruffly, adding his voice to the dim light of the bedroom. "Would you open the curtains for us slightly, son."

"Yes," I wandered over and pulled open the heavy drapes at the window, allowing another glorious day of early spring sunshine into the room. "I think it has potential, just needs some tidying up."

I felt, rather then saw the significant glances my parents exchanged and before I could be cross-examined any further, decided to take my leave. "I'm going to be busy today, so um, don't worry if I'm not around for meals or anything." I gave a little wave and left the room, trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation I knew would start as soon as my foot crossed the threshold.

Instead I pounded up the further flight of stairs in my eagerness, crossing over to the piano, grasping the ragged and sweat stained score in my hands and flopping on to the sofa, stubby pencil in hand.

I had no need to play the notes for the music was flowing through my head, the melodies and bass, here the entry of the brass, there the solo playing of the clarinet, before the full romantic sweep of the strings once again took up the theme. In my head I saw Ali dancing away, still wearing her practice costume of yesterday rather then the extravagant tutus and skirts of the stage, but in my minds eye I could see her dancing, dancing to the music I was creating.

I remember reading that Tchaikovsky wrote the Nutcracker ballet with the dancers in mind, composing the pieces alongside the choreography so that they steps matched the music perfectly. Oh to have that luxury here, for I did not know enough about dance, how it was constructed. All I could do was hope the rhythms would fit and if it were possibly to ever be used for dance I could tweak it until steps and music fitted together like a couture outfit.

"Eric?" the voice startled me out of my reverie and I glanced towards the door to find my mother standing there, a sandwich and a drink in her hands. "Darling, it's midday, I thought you might be hungry."

"Yeah, um, thanks Mum," my voice was rough with shock, where had the morning disappeared to? Three hours vanished in a flash.

"Are you…succeeding?" She questioned, obviously wanting to make conversation. With a mental sigh, I waved my hand causally towards the sofa where I sat cross-legged. She picked her way gingerly through the paper scattered on the floor and came and sat down next to me. "You look as if you've been busy."

I glanced towards her and smiled slightly, not knowing how to voice the process that I was in. After all Mum had heard me compose before, perhaps not works of this magnitude, but she had often been the sole audience to many of my teenage attempts.

"It's coming on well," I finally offered gruffly. "Really well in fact." I leant down and picked up the sandwich she had placed on the floor, feeling the bite of hunger in my stomach for the first time that day.

"And what is it? A new song for one of your artists?" I had to bite back the laugh that threatened to well up, for I knew my mother was trying to be up to date with her comments. I had once laconically mentioned that I had written a few tracks on the debut album of my latest signing. The fact that the song had subsequently entered the top ten meant my mother was as proud as if she had sung it herself. Now she believed that was all that I did in my line of work.

"No, this is a much larger work, more well like a," I paused, knowing that to utter the word would cause my mother to think that the relationship between Ali and I was cemented and not the opposite. "Like a ballet," I finished finally.

"Really!" To my surprise she said nothing but merely nodded, a knowing look entering her eyes. Instead of the banal comments I thought she would mouth she looked at me. "Well, I had better not disturb you, would you like a cup of tea later darling?"

"Oh um yes please." I was thrown by her restrained behaviour, the opposite of what I had expected. She didn't use it as an opportunity to question me about Ali, or talk about yesterday, but ruffled my hair in an annoying way and left. I glanced around the room with a feeling of unease. There was something unusual in her behaviour, something I could not quite understand.

Like yesterday, it was early evening before I emerged from my garret to join the world of gentle conversation and the Sunday newspapers downstairs. The feeling of pleasure at my work was cemented. It had been an astonishing twenty-four hours and I was now ready to take a step forward with it.

The only problem meant that I would have to contact colleagues of my former existence, organise the necessary orchestra, and make contact with a world I had left behind.

The thought sent a shiver through my body; after all I had no idea how I would be received. It used to be easy, for I took advantage of my looks and through a mixture of charm, persuasion and anger I could achieve almost anything. Now I was no longer one of the beautiful boys, I wondered if the respect I use to receive had burnt away with my skin.

The thought stayed with me all night and I spent most of it tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable, all the more aware of the discomfort of my position as I lay awake in the darkness, willing and bribing myself to try and sleep.

It was a fruitless task, for the more I concentrated on shutting the world out, the more it demanded to be let in. My skin itched, my mind raced and then the jabbing pain of healing nerves decided to get in on the act and make sure that my night was one of total misery.

It was three o'clock before I finally slipped into a restless slumber, too exhausted to do anything more. The last sound I was aware of was the sweetest music playing in my head. Music that I had composed.

Morning came as the hands of the clock swept around again, the usual routines wearily carried out before I once again sat on the couch, telephone in hand, willing myself to phone my assistant Dev.

Devon Saunders was my assistant and until recently, I thought my friend, who had joined me when 'Gin Sounds' was a small obscure label, buoyed up by borrowed money, with only two artists on its books. _Ahh, those heady days. _I allowed myself a few moments to wallow in halcyon memories, before snapping back to the situation in hand.

If I was to go anywhere, or do anything with this monumental piece of music I had written, then I needed to record it, to touch it up and more importantly to get an orchestra together. I had never been good with the logistical details that this involved, the phoning around; the bookings of halls; dealing with health and safety it all bored me rigid. Once the music had been written I had usually have lost patience with my signing, only turning up when it was truly necessary. I also found it a fine way of keeping the artists in hand, for they were often believed they were dependant on my ability to launch them. I would leave it to Dev to massage egos, set up meetings, organise musicians.

Now I needed him to do the same for me. Now I had an inkling about how much of a bastard I had been to so many people, for I was feeling the adrenalin rush and the fear of being on a precipice of achievement. One wrong move and it could all crumble underneath me, or I could take the leap and fly.

I could feel my heart beat echoing in my dry mouth as I hesitantly dialled the number, waiting for it to be answered. "Devon Saunders," the voice came across the line, the rough east end vowels modulated for telephone conversation. The voice sounded weary, tired. He had obviously been out partying last night.

"Hi Dev."

"Gin? Gin bloody hell is that you? Thought you'd bloody fallen off the face of the earth. What yer doing?" I smiled as his affectionate nickname for me. The first time we met he had told me my name was 'for poofs and tossers only' and from that day on had proceeded to call me by his abbreviation of my surname. It had stuck to the point that I had used it for my company.

"I need you to do me a favour Dev," I said after he had finished his eulogy about hearing from me.

"Anything." The way he pronounced it, the word came out as anyfing.

"I've written some music and I need to record it."

"Cor, thought you were sick mate. Knew you were just hiding away composing, said to so many peoples it was like that. Is it for that little bit of hot stuff you was shagging then? She was mighty pissed off when you disappeared you know – got all hoity toity. Had to palm her off on one of the other labels here."

"Oh, really." I was amazed at how little I cared about the rise and potential fall of Elisa Woods. She may or may not be a success, it depended if she let her ego get the better of her talent. Not all producers were willing to nurture her the way I had been.

"Yeah, Gary Evans took her over, rumoured he was real jealous that you were sleeping with her. Anyway, when do you want to record? Who do you need? Up here? So many people want to see you again."

"Oh god." The words escaped my lips unbidden. It was what I had feared, returning to work to be stared at, vetted. I wasn't ready for that."

"Gin?" Devon's voice sounded suspicious at my swearing.

"Dev, could you just organise a studio somewhere in south London. I don't need to come into the offices, I'm not back at work yet, this is just a personal project. I need an ad hoc orchestra, your basic thirty and a piano, for me."

"You playing again Gin? What you composed?"

"Um, a ballet. But Dev, don't let people know. It is still in the early stages, a work in progress, if you know what I mean."

"Sure mate. End of the week be all right for you? Over Kingston way?"

"That would be great. Could you e-mail me the details?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded confused at my lack of enthusiasm for chatter and gossip; also my obvious reluctance to come back up to the office. I suppose as far as he was concerned this was out of character for me. I had always been in the thick of things before. "All right if I come along to hear?"

"Um, I suppose so, but Dev…"

"What?"

"Things are…." I trailed off, unsure how to explain everything that had happened in the past six months. "Things are different, the way I look and stuff." It was a lame explanation, pathetic in it's description.

"I won't bring anyone with me Gin, promise, just want to see you, you old wanker."

"Thanks Dev, you always make me feel wanted," I replied wryly. "Listen, I had better leave you to it and I guess I will see you Friday if I don't hear otherwise. Start at ten?"

"I'll get the studio for the day. Get there as soon as. See you Friday." I nodded as he ended our conversation. In the past that phrase meant that I would get there whenever I chose to roll out of bed. Now it meant as early as I could physically get there.

I had set the wheels in motion and now it would be almost impossible to stop. In four days the music that had sprung out of me would be transposed, recorded and fine-tuned. With a sigh I climbed off the sofa and sat down at the piano, four days to make sure the score was as perfect as I could get it.


	9. Chapter 8

**Sorry about the wait - still without internet access at home (although not for much longer), sick son etc etc - I know excuses, excuses - well something for a Friday afternoon for you. **

Chapter Eight

Four days, ninety-six hours – it was a lifetime and it was no time at all. I spent the rest of the working week holed up in my den; my Mother curiously understanding, climbing the two flights of stairs to bring me sustenance and gently pull me back into the world I would temporarily leave behind, but otherwise leaving me in peace.

By Thursday night I was exhausted to the very core of my being, too tired to even be jumpy. However the sheets of music that sat in my binder were as perfect as I could get them. They contained my heart and soul, never before had I composed like this, with such fervour and unrelenting passion. I could understand why my work was never like this before, for although it had been technically perfect, it lacked the pain and anguish that went into this piece of music.

Forty minutes of pure ecstasy that swept the listener up; pulling them along on a journey of hate, deceit and then overwhelming love. I played it for my parents and was mollified to see my mother in tears and my father's eyes glazed with moisture. Unfortunately the one person whose approval I craved was unavailable. In light of our acrimonious parting I did not feel brave enough to visit her, even on the pretext of friendship. I would just have to wait until the piece was recorded and make sure she heard it then.

Despite all attempts to find another name for the music, I could not bring myself to change the title. Therefore emblazoned at the head of each page of score was the name, Ali's Dance.

With my parents support I had chosen my clothes and arranged for my father to drive me to the studios. They had been reluctant to lend me the car for the whole day, pointing out that sheer exhaustion would make it difficult to drive home in the evening. Once again their sheer unselfishness meant that my father would take me and catch the train into London from the nearest station, returning in the evening to pick me up and drive me home. It was like being a teenager again.

Therefore it was eight o'clock on a Friday morning when I turned up at the studios. I had spent hours here with various bands and singers, recording and fine-tuning their work. I had launched several careers from these very rooms, spending days with the soundmen, going over every second of recording with a fine-toothed comb, cutting and tweaking until the music was perfect.

Now when I approached the reception the security guard looked me over carefully. In the past he never gave me a second glance, for I would screech up in my car and swagger in; the cut of my suit and my air of arrogance enough to let him know that I was not to be questioned or stopped.

In contrast my approach now was hesitant; my clothes fitted me clumsily, the trousers hanging off my narrow hips and the jacket borrowed from my father. If that didn't serve too make me look like a man dressed from a charity shop, then the damn mask made anyone look at me twice.

"Your name please?"

"Eric St. John, Gin Sounds," I said with as much authority as I could muster, scared and annoyed that I was being challenged at the first hurdle, it did not do my dwindling confidence any good.

"Mr St. John, I didn't recognise you, sorry, I have you down…" the security guard went into a stuttering apology.

"No, please don't worry, is Devon Saunders here yet?"

"No, sir, but Pete Grey and Mattie Burns are."

"I am going straight through to the studio, would you let them know I am here?" I didn't want to be challenged again.

"Yes, yes of course," the man was determined to make up for his lack of tact earlier, practically ushering me in the right direction.

I slipped down the corridor and into the high ceiled brightly lit room. It was laid out with music stands and seating for a small chamber orchestra as I had requested, the conductors podium in front and slightly off to one side the piano. I walked up to it and sat down, lifting the lid and pressing down on the ivories. The notes rang out; tuned to perfection bringing a smile to my face, before I bent down and retrieved the score.

Fed into the computer it was no longer the scribbled work of earlier days, but a clean clear progression of music, all the parts separate and combining. Technically detailed, I knew that it would take most of the day to rehearse and tweak, we would be luckily to get it onto reel before late afternoon. I hope we could start soon.

Already there were signs that members of the orchestra had arrived, their precious instruments scattered around the room. Most people would have gone in search of caffeine and food to fuel tem through the day, but I was too nervous to eat and so instead sat on the piano stool and reviewed my composition.

That was how they found me half an hour later, my eyes closed, fingers gliding over the keys of the piano, pressing down so lightly that only half the notes rang out into the room, the rest being heard only in my head. I was so immersed in my work, that at first I did not notice that I had an audience and it was only at the end of a movement that the smattering of applause made me look up.

I recoiled in shock and alarm, unaware that people had gathered, apprehensive that they had a chance to view me before I saw them. I felt very defensive with my position, being surrounded on the piano stool by a crowd of musicians. Yet their faces were eager, fascinated, pleased. None of them held the look of horror and disgust that I usually witnessed around town, none of them seemed that interested in my looks, only in what I was playing.

The people parted like the Red Sea and Mattie Burns, whose job it was to conduct the rabble of players and turn them into an orchestra; moved through the pathway.

"Eric," his greeting was chummy as I stood to say hello, throwing his arms around me and patting me on the back, before pulling back and looking at me in the eye. I gazed back at him; waiting for any sign of fear or horror, the slight sliding away of the eye, looking downwards rather then at me, but he held my gaze firm. "It's good to see you. I have a feeling we are in for a treat today."

I gave a small smile in return at his encouraging words. "I wouldn't make proclamations like that until you've seen the score," I replied, bending down and handing the bound paper to him. "It could be your worst nightmare."

"If what I just heard was anything to go by, then I don't think so."

"But I wasn't playing!" I looked at him in shock, but he gave me a knowing smile.

"We were testing the recording equipment and it was coming through crystal clear in the sound booth!" He laughed jovially at my look of anguish. I had not wanted him to hear it that way. Purposefully I had not sent him an advanced copy as I was hoping to play it to the assembled masses first. My playing had been no more then a warm up for my stiff fingers and jittery nerves.

"Right. Is Dev here yet?"

"No, he called Pete about ten minutes ago to say he was running late and to start without him. He'll be here mid-morning."

"I understand." _I understand only too well Dev, you are in bed with someone. Took my lessons to heart it would seem. _"Well, we had better start then, how do you want to do it?"

"Complete run through, let the rabble find their way, get use to the piece and you can tweak as you need. Then we'll concentrate on the individual parts I think. Agreed."

"Certainly," Mattie knew his stuff, there was no point arguing with the voice of experience. I flexed my fingers slightly, noting that my carefully tended fingers had already started to blister. It was going to be a long day.

Never had I thought a truer sentiment. Four hours later when we broke for lunch I was near screaming point. How difficult could it be to get forty minutes of music to a point where it was recordable? Mattie was almost happy, but I was still unsure. There was something missing, something that did not play as it sounded in my head.

I sat, shooting death stares at the polished ebony of the piano, cursing it's pitch, my ability, the orchestra, but most of all the whole damn idea of mine that this piece of music was good enough to record.

Exhaustion flooded through my veins so that I could barely lift my head. It was fear of failure that kept me going now.

"Eric, you coming to lunch?" Pete interrupted my thoughts and I lifted my head to look at him, shaking my head mutely, too exhausted to bother talking. He looked at me with concern, uncertainty crossing his face as if he was not sure I would appreciate his thoughts. Normally such a subtle reaction would have me at his throat, but I was tired too care. "Why not go and take a break in my office, have some time to yourself?" He offered carefully. "It's a bit more peaceful then here."

I cracked a small smile in the wall of my face. "Thanks Pete, that's kind." I bent down stiffly and retrieved my parcel of foil wrapped sandwiches, kindly made by my mother that morning and left without another word to the small huddle that stood off to one side.

I could hear them clucking like hens, no doubt discussing the disaster that was this mornings rehearsal, wondering how they were ever going to get anything out of this session. I could barely find the energy to care as I wandered up the corridor and into Pete's large office at the end.

Carefully shutting the door behind me, I cracked a smile at the welcoming sight of my friend's hermitage. Paper was stacked in neat piles on his desk, a floor to ceiling case held hundreds of compact disks and a music system. Apart from a poor copy of Monet's Water lilies the room was bare. It needed no adornment for the large window overlooked the riverbank and down to the Thames was a picture in itself.

I gingerly lowered myself on to the sofa, swinging my legs over so that I lay out on its length, my legs propped up on the arm, too long to fit neatly. Unless I adopted a foetal position it was impossible to lie on it comfortably. More then once I had attempted to get a few hours shuteye on the unyielding cushions. Pete refused to get anything more comfortable, claiming that to do so would mean he would have no reason to go home. Certainly the rest of his life was within these walls.

Glumly I unwrapped my sandwiches and morosely munched on the carefully cut pieces of bread. The thought of having to go to the pub with Mattie, Pete and the First Violinist, to sit there and listen to their laughter and jokes and have to join in with their conversation was not my way anymore. I felt that if I avoided intimate groups of people, then I would not have to be cross-examined. I knew the questions on everyone's minds. When was I returning to work, why had I composed, what did I think about my new appearance.

I glanced over to the window and recoiled in disgust, for the bright light caused my reflection to shine in the plate glass. Hair hung raggedly around my visage, the effort of keeping up this morning too much for the hair band that had held it back. I vaguely remember feeling it ping apart as I had tugged at the tail at the back. The ill-fitting suit jacket had been discarded and I sat there in a t-shirt, one arm bare, the other wrapped in its elastic bandage. Looking at my hand I could see that the blisters had opened once again, the blood and pus smearing over my hand and the glove. It was a disgusting sight.

I wrestled with the zipper and peeled off the filthy article of clothing, holding my right hand in front of my face and turning it around in the light, looking at it's appearance. _It resembles a plucked chicken_. Thankfully I had bought a small first aid kit with me, although had left it with my bags in the recording hall.

I morosely popped the last piece of sandwich into my mouth and left the safety of the office to retrieve the rest of my possessions. There would be no one there at the moment and I could perhaps tinker with the score a little more, try and find out what was not working. It was so frustrating for yesterday I felt it could not have been improved on. Now the music seemed to no longer fit together, the movements jarring uncomfortably.

I was right about the hall being deserted, the air heavy with the perspiration of over thirty people crammed into a relatively enclosed space. I sat on the piano stool and drew my bag towards me, bending over to retrieve a clean glove and some cream to keep the skin moist.

"Oi, s'cuse me, you know where Mattie Burns, Eric St.John and Pete Grey is?" The voice rang out across the room; it's flattened vowels and estuary twang identifying the owner. The question hung in the air, obviously intended for me as the soul occupant in the room.

I stiffened in my uncomfortable pose; head down by my knees as I rooted through the bag. It was with hesitation that I lifted my head and sat upright, keeping my back to the speaker, not wanting to see them, or them to see me.

"No," I threw my voice as much as I could, try to discourage the speaker from approaching any nearer.

"They'll be in the pub then. What's the nearest one to here?"

"I don't know." I still kept my back turned and tried to discourage the conversation.

"Right," I could tell from the negative tone of voice that it was working, for the owner sounded well and truly peeved. "Thanks, for nothing." I heard him turn and talk to his companion, a woman if the sharp clipping of heels on the wooden floor were anything to go by.

Once I judged them safely away, I moved to the men's room where I washed my hand, re-creamed it and put on a fresh glove. It was unfortunately bright purple, being a spare; its garish colour drawing attention to its existence, unlike the flesh toned ones I usually wore.

With a good half an hour of lunch left I sat in front of the ivories once again and critically examined the score. The strings and woodwind pieces were right; it was the entry of the piano, far too dominating in the first and then no strong enough in the second. I needed to reorganise the music so that it led the orchestra, not fought it, that was the mistake. _I need to work with Ali on this, not fight her. _

The thought startled me so much that I looked up, glancing around the room as if I would find someone who spoke the words. It was, of course, as empty as when I had started, but the idea stayed with me. I had written this for Ali and where the piano jarred with the rest of the music was where I had allowed my discontent to get the better of me.

With this knowledge in mind I quickly worked through, changing some of my entries and adding another few lines that sprang into my head. It was suddenly blindly easy again. Maybe we would get to record this after all.

"There he is, at the piano, where else did you expect to find him?" Mattie's voice interrupted my peace and I put my pen down with a sigh, turning to face my audience and recoiling slightly.

I had expected to see Dev with the crowd, but I had not expected his arm to be around Elisa. I swallowed hard and stood up, my eyes glancing over my assistant and my former bed partner.

I carefully noted how she shrank back against him slightly, her hand grasping blindly backwards to hold his, as if my appearance was too much for her. Her eyes travelled the length of my body, coming to rest on the mask before glancing wildly over my shoulder, trying to find anywhere to focus but my face.

"Dev," I said and I knew that my voice carried the displeasure I felt with the little chit he had on his arm. It was partly her fault that I was this way, if she had demanded a screw then I would have…No, I could not blame her for my misfortune. As my father had said many a time it was an unfortunate accident. I could not place the guilt at her feet, she was just a naive little teenager, star struck by the cruel world of show business.

"Gin, bloody hell." He broke the contact with Elisa, leaving her standing and approached me, taking in my appearance, a smile on his face. We stood facing each other for a couple of seconds before we fell into each other arms, pounding each other on the back, before drawing back. "What the fuck had happened to you?" That was Dev's way, direct, forthright. He didn't beat around the bush.

"I thought you knew."

"Nahh, the powers that be just said you was off sick. The rumours were that you had either had a nervous breakdown or you was in rehab. You didn't return my calls, reply to your e-mails. Then you phone me out the blue. I thought you'd decided to disappear and compose. Got fed up of.."He lowered his voice and nodded towards his companion. "You know who."

"No, I've been recuperating at my parents actually." I glanced down at his shoes. "Haven't really felt like being in contact with anyone."

"Can understand that. So you've been locked away composing. Cor, I'm gonna have to call you the Phantom of the bloody Opera now."

"Dev, no please, it's bad enough. No jokes, I can't handle it."

"All right mate, as it's you." He winked before turning and gesturing for Elisa to join us. "Come here love, he doesn't bite, at least not anymore." There was a smattering of laughter at the crude joke and the girl moved reluctantly forward to join us, trying to keep her eyes away from my face.

"Hello Eric," her voice was small, quiet and she glanced up at me, before taking great interest in her manicure.

"Elisa, how are you getting on?" I tried to sound as professional as possible, but could not help a quaver in my voice at her disregard.

"Fine, we've nearly finished recording the second album," she mentioned with another quick glance at me. "Where did you get to then? You just disappeared."

"I was in an accident. I got burnt." I held my purple covered hand up in front of my face, so that she could clearly see it. "I am now officially a burn victim." I watched for any sign of remorse or feeling and too my horror saw tears well up in her eyes.

"Oh god Eric, I am sorry," she sobbed into her hands. "I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to drive you away. I've felt so guilty. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I made Dev bring me here today to see you, I just didn't think you would be so…" she trailed off and waved her fine little hand at me, all the while crying prettily. "Damaged." The word came out on a sob.

It was a sight to break a man's heart, any man except me; the sight of her sobbing only made me dislike her even more. She was a consummate actress when it came to playing her audience and at this moment everyone's eyes were upon her. I knew that she was hoping I would stick to my role.

"That's all right Elisa, it is not your fault," I replied stiffly, sticking to the unwritten script. "Just an unfortunate accident." At my words she sniffed again and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, the tears drying instantly. Watching her I was reminded of blue tear filled eyes, the thought bringing me back down to why I was here today. "However, we are very busy, so I would appreciate it, if you let us get on."

I saw the warning frown on her forehead, displeasure at being told what to do. In my former life I use to gain great pleasure from making her frown, riling her for my juvenile amusement. Now, I was fed up, I didn't know what her agenda was and I didn't care, I just wanted to record my music.

I turned my back on her and the gathered audience and went and sat at the piano again, fed up to the core of being labelled and studied. Her insensitive words cut me to the core, damaged goods, no use to her anymore.

Everyone picked up on my mood and dragged themselves away from the soap opera in the midst, returning with good natured grumbling to their seats, picking up instruments, checking the tuning and settling down, whilst I reviewed the changes I had made to the score with Mattie.

Unfortunately Dev did not seem to pick up on the undercurrents, for rather then leaving with Elisa, he took her up to the booth, letting her witness my outpouring of musical passion from on high.

Thankfully as I began to play I forgot, forgot all about her presence and her hurtful words, forgot about Dev and the orchestra around me. Forget about the frustration of the morning. At the moment it was only me, the music and an image in my head, of a girl dancing.

Once again my parents were right. When my Father collected me at six o'clock that evening I was exhausted to the core. Yet it was a happy fatigue, for we had managed to get the music on to disk. Forty-one minutes and thirty-two seconds of my composition, was sitting at the studios, waiting for my next move.

"So how are you going to release it?" my Father asked with curiosity as we sat in a queue of traffic that fled London for the weekend. "Are you going to compose more pieces, how does it work?"

"Well," I shrugged, feeling my aching shoulder muscles roll under the coat and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "I suppose I shall send samples to the record labels, possibly to a couple of contacts I have in the movie industry and try and get on either Radio 3 or Classic FMs play list. If it succeeds as an individual piece then that is fantastic, if not, Pete will store it up and I shall try and compose some more, see if I can make it into an album. I just wanted to test the water really."

"Do you have any spare that your old parents can listen to?"

"Dad!" I laughed. "Yeah, I got a few to pass around." That was the end of the conversation, for the warm stuffiness of the car crept into my senses and I found myself settling back into my seat, my eyelids drooping closed with tiredness and my head lolling on my shoulder. The smooth ride and the drone of the radio were a comforting presence and before I knew it, I was more soundly asleep then I had been all week.

I stumbled out the car and into the house, the cold winter's evening freezing my breath into a plume of white as I groggily made my way into the house. I had been uncomfortably asleep all the way home and now just wanted to fall into bed and try and restore the hours of shuteye that I had lost during the week.

"The conquering hero returns," my Mother cheered as I clumsily walked into the kitchen, head bent, shoulders hunched in tiredness. I did little more then glare at her in a woefully tired way. "I think you need a bath and bed Eric," she suggested with a look at me. "You look exhausted. Shall I bring you some soup up on a tray?"

I wanted to snap at her that I was simply tired and not ill, but the idea of sitting in bed, listening to the recording and sipping at a mug of hot soup was sheer bliss after the hours spent hunched over the keys of a piano.

Shucking off my shoes, I wearily climbed the stairs, my mind stuck on the thought of a relaxing bath before sleeping. "Ow," an involuntarily yell came from my lips as I treaded on something hard and plastic, lying at the top of the stairs. I kicked the object with my foot and watched as it skittered across the carpet, coming to rest a metre or two away. Narrowing my eyes I saw that it sat at an angle, a round of plastic with a teat on the end. Curiosity aroused I bent over and picked it up, holding it up to the dim light coming from downstairs. "A dummy?" I questioned, looking at the unmistakable pacifier in my hand, narrowing my eyes at the object. I could not understand why something like this would be in my house - we didn't know anyone with children, let alone babies.

Suddenly my blood froze, as I realised whose the owner of the dummy must be. Surely it was Teresa's! _Was Ali here? Is my mother inviting her over behind my back?_

I leant against the wall as another wave of exhaustion came over me, unable to barely keep my eyes open. Yet even in my state of tiredness I could not help but feel a certain joy that Ali was obviously in contact, that she spent time here.

Patience that is what I needed, for it was only with time that I could play my hand. My fingers closed around the small plastic soother and squeezed as hard as I could, as if it were a talisman of Ali and her daughter.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

One positive that arose from the fiasco of trying to record the week before, had been to rekindle my friendship with Dev. A companion that I had thought was dead and buried in the formalities of sick leave had risen once again. Even though I was not keen to admit it, I had missed him. We had shared so much of our former lives that I realised my existence was quite empty without him and his cheery down to earth ways were refreshing.

Therefore not even a week had passed before I called him; inviting him down to my parents for the day. He arrived, a smile on his face and a large bouquet of flowers in his arms for my mother, charming her with his cockney ways before joining me upstairs in my studio.

I lounged on the couch, using exhaustion as an excuse to dress informally in a pair of old sweatpants and the usual t-shirt, watching him as he prowled around the room, studying the pictures and articles on the walls, the composition at the piano and the books on the shelves.

"Cor, what's this?" He paused at an article stuck inside a clip frame.

"Dev, don't," I murmured wearily, too tired to argue properly. I had been over at the hospital the day before, for my usual session of body battering, as I had renamed my physiotherapy and as always was feeling drained with the effects.

"'Eric St. John with Creed, and their Brit award for Best Newcomer'" he read in mock serious tones. "Gin, they were shit, how did you ever manage to get them that?"

"Hmm, it was a studio produced album and the great British Public were ready for it at the time, that's all."

"What happened to them anyways?"

"Huh, oh they decided to try and break America, without my blessing and got swallowed up, they weren't good enough to compete with the rock talent out there. Probably cleaning swimming pools or something now."

"Yeah, probably. I can't believe you wore leather trousers to that party!"

"Humph," I grunted and leaned my head back against the cushions. "It was five years ago and it was a rock party, stop being so gay."

"No chance there pretty boy, you the one that looks gay in those," he laughed hoarsely and continued to wander around the room, keeping up his commentary regarding the pictures on the wall, usually to make sarcastic comments about them.

"Dev, would you bloody well stop it," I finally barked out after fifteen minutes of one-sided abuse.

"God Gin, you are in a bad mood," Dev finally came and sat opposite me on the piano stool. "Just having a reminisce. What's got into you?"

"A two hour car drive and an hour of physio," I bit back crankily, causing Devon to smile at me, flashing his gold-capped tooth.

"Well it's good to see that your moods haven't been affected. And here I was thinking a few months without coke in your system might do you some good. Guess I was wrong. Do you want some?" He started to reach inside his jacket causing me to sit up in alarm.

"Devon Saunders you did not bring drugs into my parent's house?" I practically yelled, leaping off the couch.

"What the fuck's got into you?" he paused. "Gin, you never said no to a line or two, what's the matter?" He looked slightly alarmed by my adverse reaction and dropped the packet back into his inner pocket, glancing warily at me and the frozen snarl my mouth was in.

I shuffled back on to the sofa and dropped my eyes in apology, forcing my face to relax, knowing that in my current state I probably looked rather frightening. "Dev, I don't do that anymore. I can't, take far too many prescription drugs to even dare. I've put all that behind me, it's too, too risky and besides I feel like I'd be abusing my parents trust to do so." I looked up and saw that he was assessing me carefully.

"You're not a teenager anymore Eric," he said slowly. It was one of the few occasions he had used my real name.

"No, but I have been near to hell and back and I don't want to go there again. Dev, do you know what my life has become, do you have any idea how shit it is?" I watched as he shook his head mutely. "I, I, I have to wear this godamn mask all the time, except when I am washing my body or exercising, I take all sorts of drugs and steroids just to stop me going out of my mind from itching. I am lucky to get a full night's unbroken sleep. I have to sleep with a clamp in my mouth to stop the skin around my mouth shrinking too much. I…." I trailed off the useless litany, realising that I was shaking and close to tears, worse then any come down I had ever had.

"Eric," Devon said quietly. "Mate, don't blame yourself, don't blame me neither. Look, I can't say I understand 'cause I don't, but I appreciate your position." His voice was soothing and calming, a tonic to my hypersensitive state and I started to relax. He wasn't too have known how I felt, what I had been through. The Eric St. John of old would have jumped at the chance to inhale Class A drugs. "Just don't wig out on me."

I frowned. "Wig out, what sort of phrase is that?"

"From America, some grunge band that we've been working with, they says it a lot." He imitated the west coast accent. "Hey don't wig out on me man."

I grunted with vague amusement. "I take it that they are those kids from Seattle we hunted down?"

"Yeah and EGA took all the credit for their discovery." He paused and looked at me, obviously worried about an adverse reaction again. "You know they are trying to pretend you're dead and buried?"

"I thought the flowers they sent me would look good on a grave," I muttered dryly. "Dev, they've been trying to get rid of me for ages. I was too much of a wildcard for them, could never dance to their song."

"They couldn't sing," he replied smiling at the poor joke, glad I wasn't going to erupt again. "So what's you gonna' do? Don't tell me start up another company?"

"I don't think it would be successful Dev," honesty seemed the best policy at this point. "You and I both know that looks are important in this game and this," I waved a hand at my plastic encased visage, "is not exactly going to have them flocking to me. I'm sorry Dev, but you still have a job, don't you? They aren't going to fire you on some jumped up stupid issue."

"Naah, far too valuable to them. I know too much, including whose shagging whom. Could make it very messy." I cracked a smile at his understated comment, remembering whom he turned up to the studios with.

"So are you sleeping with Elisa then?"

"What that little jumped up tart?" He sounded offended at my suggestion. "Sorry Gin, I know you had her, but since you left she got rather panicky, think she thought that without you she would drown and rather slept with anyone who could reassure her that it wasn't the case." I smiled again only this time grimly.

"It's my fault Dev, I took a naive little schoolgirl with a nice voice and told her she could have the world. Of course she would sleep with me after that."

"And you, um, deflowered her eighteen year old form?" I could hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"Well yeah, I _think_ so, she um, well she said so." I found myself blushing. It was one thing to boast about my conquests down the pub, another entirely to talk with Dev about it in such an urban environment.

"Uh, uh" I registered Devon shaking his head. "She was pretending, that girl is the village bicycle, everyone's had a ride. My mum knows a friend of the families and she had such a reputation even then."

"Oh," I didn't know what to say. Elisa had never been my girlfriend, but the situation of our last night together had left an unsatisfactory end to the relationship. Usually when I slept with a woman, especially any I had nurtured through the production process, I made it quite clear that it ended once the record was released, for I would not chase around the country or the world after them.

Elisa had been different for I had launched her properly with her first release and then left her, as I had all her predecessors. However when she came back to record her second album we somehow rekindled our relationship. The night of my accident, we had been regularly meeting for over two months. No wonder she felt guilty when I had disappeared.

I realised in a flash of inspiration that I had possibly felt more for her then I let on. Not love, that was too deep; too heartfelt, but I did feel a need to protect her, to nurture her. Yet, when I compared this fledgling passion to the overwhelming love I felt for Ali it crumbled and disappeared under the weight.

"Gin mate, she insisted on coming to see you yesterday you know. Found out I was going and wouldn't let me leave without her. That's why I was so late. Bloody woman." He laughed at his description. "You didn't mind did you?"

"Hmm, not really, well not as much as I thought I would, although she managed to make me feel really shit about myself, calling me damaged."

"Called you what?"

"Damaged, like damaged goods I guessed. Not a very nice way to describe me is it? I prefer burnt to a crisp, or deeply roasted, thank you very much." My words were sarcastic, trying to hide the hurt her silly comment had caused.

"I still think 'Phantom of the Opera' would be a good one."

"Dev!" His name came out through gritted teeth. "No." He stared at me for a moment, his mouth twisted in thought, as if he were judging how far he could possibly push me before I would attack once again.

"What's that?" Obviously, he didn't trust my carefully reined in temper, his attention diverting instead to the small rubber soother that I had placed lovingly on the bookshelf.

"Oh, um, it's a dummy, one of my err, mother's friends children." I hastily improvised, the relationship sounded tenuous even to my ears."

"Your mother's, friend's cousins what?" Devon sounded confused. "So why's it up here? Seriously Gin, if you told me you had little kids running around your music room then I fink your brains been addled as well as your skin. You hate children."

"I don't," I replied weakly, realising that I always professed a profound dislike for them before.

"So calling them 'little shits' was a term of endearment then?"

"Yes," I lied blandly.

"Gin, you're a fucking awful liar mate." Devon cracked into hoarse laughter and after a moment I joined in, knowing that he spoke the truth. Until now mothers and babies had never even entered my consciousness, except to get in my way, usually when I was in a hurry. No, I had never claimed a love of children. My viewpoint had only changed recently. "So is it hers then?"

"What?" His simple question threw me.

"This baby, whose dummy that is. Is it Ali's baby?"

"Ali's baby? What? How do you know about Ali and Tess?" I stuttered, wondering in a rush of panic if my mother had chatted to him longer then I had realised. Did my old friend now know of my pathetic desire for this woman? We used to hunt females together and now I was left begging for scraps like a dog under a table.

"Whoa, Gin, calm down you're doing that wigging out fing again," Dev warned, holding his hands up in defeat and protection. "I know nofing about any Ali or Tess, but that was the name of the woman in the title of your music, yeah?"

"Oh yeah," I muttered, realising that I had given more of the game away then Dev knew. However he would sniff the rest out of me.

"The bet was Ali was your nurse, at the hospital, but I'm not sure. Unless it's your mother. Ali ain't your mother is she?"

I shook my head, a reluctant smile creeping across my lips, at his worried tone. "No, my mother's name is Helena."

"Phew, bit of a relief there, cause that is one sexual piece of music you've written and if that was your mother, I'd be worried. But it wasn't a nurse was it?" I shook my head again, remaining mute. "So who the bloody hell is it? There is such passion in it so it must be someone amazing and that someone has a kid, which is why you are displaying that dummy as if it were somfing of importance." He pointed a manicured finger at the object in question, a look of pride on his face at his detective work.

I remained silent, studying my blistered fingers objectively, wondering if they would write any more music. Just discussing Ali, talking about her as if she was a permanent feature in my life bought a glow to my emotions. "She's just a friend," I offered finally.

"Friend and you want her to be more."

"How the bloody hell do you know Dev, how do you know anything about how I feel," I bit out as he hit a sensitive nerve.

"You was always shit with women's emotions Gin, I doubt that's changed."

"For once you are right," I replied sarcastically. "Yes, her name is Ali and yes she has a baby daughter and no, she isn't interested in me and yes I am interested in her. Are you satisfied now?"

"Why ain't she interested in you?" he questioned.

"Because I look like a piece of charred meat," I roared back, leaping off the sofa again in frustration. I didn't like his line of questioning; it was worse then my mothers. I threw a snarl over at him as he sat on the piano stool, rubbing his chin with his hand as if he were a doctor about to pass a diagnosis, choosing to pace out my frustration.

"Did she say that? Did she say that she didn't want to go out with you because of the way you looked?" I stopped in my tracks and took a deep breath. I had always known Devon was tenacious, that was what had made him such a good assistant. I didn't enjoy being on the receiving end of it however.

"No," I replied with a sigh, bringing my hands up to massage my temples and ease the gathering pressure. It was a clumsily useless task. "She overheard me, I was talking with her daughter, well at her daughter really, as she is only five months old and I said that I loved her, to Tess that is, not Ali and," I shrugged, not knowing how to describe her reaction. "I suppose you can say she wigged out on me." I copied his latest phrase.

"So it was the thought of you loving her that scared her." More chin stroking as I paced past the piano, once, twice. "Where is the father of Tess then? I doubt he was there listening in."

"He abandoned her, before she was due to give birth. She's kind of alone."

"Gin, oh bloody hell, you've fallen in love with a pathetic woman. You trying to be her knight in shinning armour or what? How old is she, nineteen, twenty?" He started to laugh and the sound annoyed me intensely, it was so mocking of me, of Ali.

"She's actually twenty-eight," I said with as much certainty as I had, "and is a ballet dancer with the Royal Ballet, so she is hardly a pathetic case, just been dealt some bad blows. And no, I don't want to rescue her. We just got talking, in the coffee shop. She was the first person to talk to me in there, even though I've been going every day for the past four months. Do you have any idea what it is like to be invisible? Yet she singled me out and we got talking and she is lovely and talented and brave and…"

"You sound like my baby brofer." Devon interrupted my monologue. "In love with love."

"Why do you say that?" I demanded, leaning on the piano and fixing him with my stare.

"Eh," Devon looked slightly stunned at my intensity.

"You said I am in love with love and Ali said exactly the same thing. Why?"

"Well Gin mate, you've always been looking for _her_ you know. I know what you said 'bout women only being good for one fing and all, but I always knew you was lying. All you've ever wanted is to find the perfect woman and have the perfect life. I mean, I understand, look at this place and how you grew up. Me, it was six of us kids in a council house in Bermondsey, so you know, not so desperate to recreate that. But you've grown up in the lap of luxury and have a really lovely mum. Not surprising you wants the same sort of life." He laughed. "I would want this life if it were mine." My jaw hung open in amazement, for I realised he had astutely pinpointed how I felt.

"Um yeah," It was true after all. If I was honest with myself, all my bland comments about loving women from afar and not wishing to be involved with them was because I simply wanted to settle down. I wanted my Victorian house with its large garden, I wanted rooms full of children, and I wanted the beautiful suburban life painted in a hundred adverts.

Yet the women that I met in my line of work rarely desired that. Instead they craved fame, fortune and glamour. It was easier to keep them at arms length and so I had cultivated an aura of mystery and desire around me that stopped them from loving me and more importantly; me from loving them.But if I stopped and thought about it I was more and more desperate to find that perfect someone and settle down with them. Having my features burnt off did not help my cause.

I gave a heartfelt sigh at the thought of sharing my life with Ali, could see what it would be like to have Tess toddling around the house. What a wonderful existence that would be.

"Gin?" Devon's voice interrupted my daydream. "What you thinking?"

"Nothing, nothing at all" I waved away my spaced out thoughts. "Listen, all this soul searching is making me starving, do you want some food?"

"Eat out or in? Could kill a pizza. Is there anywhere decent to eat in this suburban town?"

"Oh, um," I hesitated for I had not chosen to eat in a restaurant since the accident. The whole act of eating food was rather tedious, chewing alone a ritual of counting the bites of mastication. The coffee shop was the most I felt I could handle. "How about a sandwich and a coffee," I suggested instead. "I've switched from coke to caffeine as my new drug of choice." It was a rather lame joke and my old confidante stared at me with suspicion before agreeing without enthusiasm.

We strode into town, much to Devon's amusement, not understanding why the ten-minute walk could not be achieved much more quickly in his car. Yet the day was fresh and bright and after being cooped inside for so long composing, I craved the coolness of the day. Spring was defiantly starting to occur, the bulbs planted in swathes along the roadside starting to push their heads up, buds forming on the trees. I breathed it all in with a sense of satisfaction.

"Isn't it quite glorious out," I enthused, taking the day in through enhanced eyes, noting the swaths of crocus that were scattered over the lawn in the park.

"Um yeah," Devon's enthusiasm was cold as he looked around him. "So this is your life, where you grew up and all?"

"Yes, it is a really nice town."

"So d'you know lots of people here then. Is that why you don't want to come back to London?"

"Not anymore. Besides I was packed off to boarding school when I was thirteen, so lost contact with most people after that." I indicated the hopelessness of the situation with a shrug of my shoulders. "That's life really."

"Yeah, if you've got your sort of life. God I would have given anyfing to have gotten away from my brofers and sisters when I was younger. You don't know how lucky you are Gin."

"Yeah and I was desperate for brothers and sisters, so you always want what you haven't got." I smiled ruefully and picked up the pace of the walking, rushing on ahead and leaving my companion to breathlessly bring up the rear.

It was with good cheer that I sat down at the small table, a panini and a cup of coffee in front of me, trying to ignore the way Devon picked at his sandwich. Maybe I had lowered my standard for seeing the way he turned his nose up at the food made me angry.

Once upon a time, I suppose that I would have done the same, seen the whole place for the provincial backwater that it was, but now I was eager for my London friend to embrace it as I did and his lack of enthusiasm grated.

"Something wrong Dev?" I asked innocently having chewed a mouthful.

"Gin mate, why are we here? A few months ago you wouldn't 'ave been seen dead eating lunch in a place like this."

"It's good value for money."

"As if you have to worry about money! Look can't we just go for a pizza, I'm starving!" I swallowed the mouthful of bread, trying not to choke as the large lump made it's way down and gave a weary sigh.

"If you insist," I began in a pained voice, hoping that I could dissuade him, scared at being in such an enclosed place with people staring at me. At least here I could hide in my usual corner.

"I do yeah," he said roughly, pushing the uneaten food away from him and standing up, pushing his arms back into his coat. "You ain't half getting some foibles since being here. Come on." He barely waited for me to stand up before storming off through the door, pushing past the woman who was struggling in with a pushchair.

Chivalry dies hard and I stood back, holding the door open, allowing her to enter, annoyed at the rudeness of my friend. The woman automatically looked up in thanks, a smile spreading across her face as she glanced at my features. "Eric!" Startled by her friendly surprise and focusing on my friend it took me a second to realise that it was Ali with Tess in the pushchair.

I shot a pained glance at Devon who stood a picture of impatience on the pavement outside, his arms crossed against his chest as he tapped his foot.

"How are you?" she queried, noting my glance towards the man. "Were you about to leave with that chap?"

"Hmm, oh, yes well," I stumbled regaining the use of my voice, cursing the awkward situation that had occurred. "That is an old friend of mine who I work with, use to work with, um, we were just going out for lunch," I shook my head as the words came tumbling out, not knowing what to say. Ali simply looked amused.

"I don't want to keep you then, I was just going to have a coffee, it was nice almost talking to you."

"No wait," I grabbed her arm and to her amusement opened the door and started to pull her out with me. "Come with us, come to lunch. I am sure you haven't been out in ages."

"Eric, I can't af…"she started, bewildered by my erratic behaviour.

"Don't worry about that, it's Dev's shout. Devon." I turned my attention towards the man standing a couple of feet away; the expression on his face mirrored the confusion on Ali's. "This is Ali, I've invited her to join us for lunch," I introduced breathlessly. "Ali, this is Devon Saunders, a friend and one time assistant."

"Pleased to meet you," she said politely holding out her hand. Devon, a rouge twinkle in his eyes picked it up and bought the fingers to his lips, kissing them.

"Oh the pleasure's all mine," he said wickedly, shooting me a look having obviously figured out who this woman was. "You coming to lunch with us? How lovely, means I don't have to put up with his boring conversation. Hope you like pizza?"

"Well, yes, thank you very much, I do," she said with a slight giggle, looking at me with a frown creasing her forehead, confused and bemused by the charming cockney I was with. It was the usual reaction from people who met Devon for the first time.

We made an ungainly procession down the shopping precinct towards the restaurant, talking lightly of nothing in particular, Devon and I flanking Ali as she pushed the pram, her daughter fast asleep inside it.

The maitre de took us in with a glance, directing us to a table at the back with room for the unwieldy pushchair and a large potted plant that I positioned myself by, hoping that people would notice it's ugliness, rather then mine.

In the few minutes since they had made each other's acquaintance Devon and Ali seemed to have hit it off, chatting away like old friends, her laugh sprinkling the conversation with it's lightness. She was like a different woman from the one I knew. Maybe, I thought dourly it was my attitude rubbing off on her, maybe I bought her down.

She simply picked at the salad she ordered, whilst Devon devoured a huge pizza, before turning his sights on most of my uneaten plate of pasta, stealing bits of food off it, barely asking if I minded. I didn't in theory, it was more the way he ignored me in order to carry on his conversation with Ali that rankled. "No," I snapped, as he reached out a fork to spear another mouthful. "Devon, your manners are atrocious, stop eating my lunch." I sounded like my mother I reflected and could only assume that Ali thought the same as she looked at me, swallowing a smile.

"Gin mate, you have totally lost your sense of fun," my companion commented critically. "Your weren't bloody well eating it."

"Doesn't mean you can." I responded sourly. "You've even put Ali off her food."

"No, no," she hastened to correct me, waving her hands to show I was wrong. "I'm just trying to shed excess baby weight, before I do myself a serious injury." She laughed again.

"You don't look particularly heavy to me," Devon commented with his usual charming grin, causing me to sigh and raise my eyes to heaven.

"Trust me, I am for a dancer."

"Dancer? You didn't tell me you were a dancer." Devon shot me a look, a slight lifting of his mouth warning me not to interrupt. I sat back in my chair, vaguely amused, wanting to see what he was planning.

"Oh, um yeah, well I was, before Tess was born.

"How fascinating. Modern? Ballroom? Were you on Come Dancing?"

"No, ballet. I was with the Royal Ballet as an Artist." She smiled hesitantly, showing no signs of pride at her talent and achievement.

"Ballet, I'm a complete ballet nut. See most of 'em. Probably seen you. What you been in?" Devon flashed her a charming smile.

"Oh, gosh lots of things." Ali shrugged hesitantly. "The usual, Swan Lake, Nutcracker, Sleeping Beauty, Romeo and Juliet, but I doubt you would remember me against other of my tutu wearing friends. We are trained to act as one."

"Created anything? I go to quite a lot of stuff in the Linbury Theatre?"

"Really, um, well my partner James and I created a dance together called Positions of Love, but it was a workshop, you might not have seen it."

"Yeah, that rings a bell," Devon was looking at her intently with a slight frown on his face. I was totally amazed, having not realised that my friend was so into his dance. "Was you wearing a simple grey tunic and sort of twisting round each other, like in that phone advert, sort of dancing and embracing stuff."

"That's it, they actually took our dance as a basis for the advert, although they didn't give us any credit for it," she sighed. "But I dance under my real name which is why you probably find it difficult to make an association."

My ears pricked up at her words and I joined in the conversation. "Real name?"

"Well, Ali is my middle name and Christine is my first name, after my mother. Don't know why they bothered calling me that though because I've been known as Ali since I was born and my father was hardly going to call me by my first name if it reminds him of my mother is he?"

"So Ali is your middle name?" I asked in astonishment.

"Yes, Christine Alison de Theale, if you really must know. And what is yours?"

"Eric Michael St. John," I stupidly stuck out my hand as if introducing myself for the first time, causing Devon to snicker with laughter. Ali shook it.

"Please to meet you Eric Michael," she said seriously shaking my hand, before breaking into laughter. "You see what you can find out about people when you ask?" The question was aimed at me and I wondered if it was chastisement regarding our last meeting.

The moment of intimacy that we had found was broken by Tess waking up with a yell, demanding immediate attention. I watched as Ali, unable to comfort her and cheeks red with embarrassment fled outside, her hurried apology ringing in our ears as she raced home to feed and change her chid.

"Well," Dev settled back in his chair looking at me, as the dying echo of the babies screaming reverberated through the glass conservatory in which we sat.

"Well what?" I asked with a wary tone, wondering what his summary would be. It was defiantly not how I used to live me life.

"Shall we go back to yours? Could do with walking off my lunch." He patted his flat stomach before standing up with the groan of a hugely overweight person.

I waited with a degree of nervous anticipation as we strolled away from town and through the park, Dev not breaking his vow of silence.

"Are you going to bloody say something," I finally spat out.

"Huh?" He looked at me in confusion.

"What were you going to say? What do you think?" I nearly shouted in frustration, causing a dog walker to look at me nervously, noting my strange appearance.

"I think you are acting really strangely," he frowned. "What do I think about what?"

"About Ali, what do you think about here?" I was practically dancing around him in excitement, desperately wanting his nod of approval.

"Yeah, she seems really nice."

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"What more do you want me to say. Why do you cares what I fink Gin?"

"Because it's important to me," I bit out. "I feel for Ali like, well like nothing I've felt before, so I need your…" I trailed off, not sure what I wanted from Devon.

"Gin, you don't need my approval, if that's what you want. Yeah she's a nice girl, looked like a cute baby and all, even though it screamed. Why you even worried? It's not like you?"

He was right of course, bluntly so. "My situation is different, you can tell." I answered coldly. "So a little reassurance goes a long way."

"Fine then, go on you have my permission to court Christine Alison de Theale. Would you like that in writing? You know what Gin; she never knew what you were like before, so why worry. If she obviously likes you enough to talk to you, then you are in with as much of a chance as you'll ever be."

"But I look so ugly," I whined with worry.

"For fuck sake!" Devon exploded suddenly, causing me to stop in surprise. "You are one selfish bastard, you know that Eric St. John. Yeah you ain't in a good place at the moment, but you had it coming you know and you still have more support and love and help from you parents then most peoples I know. Learn what it's like not to have it all handed to you on a plate for once in your self-scented life."

"I am not selfish," I shouted back. "I care what is happening in the world, I worry about other things."

"Not as much as about yourself. You have gone through life leaving a trail of broken hearts and you never cared, dismissed then all. Do you know how many women I use to have field calls from, how many would try and come and see you in the offices? You have no bloody clue what it's like to be an ordinary person Gin. You've never been ordinary." He heaved a huge breath and glanced around, his face set into lines of anger.

It seemed that I had a talent for upsetting people, first Ali and now Devon. I could probably include my mother on the list as well; for I know her patience often wore thin.

"I" I paused, words failing me. It wasn't an apology that my friend was looking for, but I felt that I had to somehow make amends.

"Gin, don't say anything, just try and act on the advice," Devon replied, seeing that I was lost for what to say. "Look, just don't give up on Ali by pretending that she isn't interested in you because of the way you look okay. Just remember that some people, not all but some people can see beyond all that, okay?" He patted me on the shoulder awkwardly and I knew that he was embarrassed by his comments.

"Thanks Dev, I just needed to know, just needed to know if you think it is worth it, to preserve with Ali."

"Oh yeah mate, definitely," he laughed as we continued walking home. "Don't let that one slip from your grasp."

And so it was, with my friend's blessing that I gained my bed that night with a slightly lighter heart. I had managed to speak to Ali, in fact, she spoke to me and I had reassurance from a good friend that to go after Ali was the right thing to do.

In the darkness of the room I lay awake staring at the ceiling, seeing the coving mutate in the shadows of the room. "I love you Ali," I thought to myself. "I love you and I'm not going to give up."


	11. Chapter 10

**Sorry for the delay again - things tend to get in the way like Christmas, jobs and babies and then the weather here is so bad that our broadband went down! Anyway our hero and heroine are finally moving somewhere and starting to heal. Enjoy and please don't forget to review.**

Chapter Ten

I sat in front of the computer, idly surfing the Internet. I had no need of anything and no want for any knowledge at present, so the task was simply a way to pass time, to tick a few more minutes off the clock.

All the plans I had for the day had been destroyed the moment my mother had opened her mouth. Embolden by the reaction of Ali yesterday, I had resolved to drive over to see her again today, to at least try and be her friend, if not the love that I craved.

Instead I was stuck in my father's study, sulking whilst mindlessly surfing. My mother needed her car, had made arrangements weeks ago that she was going out with her friends; to continue the life that she had before my untimely arrival back home.

"Why couldn't you borrow Dad's car?" I had shouted at her in frustration, stamping my socked foot on the kitchen floor. It made no sound, but the action released a small amount of my frustration.

"Really Eric," she had sighed. "You cannot assume that everything will be available for you all the time. If you want to see Ali, why not call her and invite her over?" The words were slightly sharp and impatient; obviously my histrionics had failed to move her.

"I want to go and see her." I repeated.

"Well I doubt she wants to see you if you are going to behave like a small child. One is quite enough for her," my mother's snapped, her patience wearing thin. "Now, leave me in peace to get ready."

Summarily dismissed I slunk off to the study to sulk, pretending to be deeply engrossed when my mother called her goodbyes. If she was going to call me immature, then I would make sure that I behaved so. And so I sat there for over an hour, randomly checking different sites, clicking on links, willing myself to find something I wanted to buy. I had enough books, Cds, gadgets and clothes to last a lifetime, even if they were up in London and not down here. "The only thing I really need right now is a car," I muttered to no one in particular before sitting upright as if struck by a lightening bolt. Car! Why had I not thought of it before? I had more then enough money sitting in various bank accounts to go and purchase one straight off and if not then I could easily sign up to some over inflated loan scheme that the salesman would try and flog me.

I leapt off the chair and bounded up the stairs and into my room, throwing off the sweatpants and t-shirt that I had dressed in that morning and pulling smarter clothes out of my closet. Humming merrily I went to close the cupboard door and froze, looking at my reflection in the mirror that hung on the inside of the door.

My mutilated body, wrapped in its bandages stared back at me and my masked face peered through the dark hair that hung over my face and shoulders. "Not exactly Botticelli are you?" I commented to my reflection, repressing the immature urge to stick my tongue out at the sight.

Yet it was with more of a sober tread that I redressed myself, swapping sweatpants for a pair of jeans, the crease in the leg carefully ironed in by my mother's hand and the crisp shirt with its oversized collar, all that would fit over my pressure garments. I tied my hair back and pulled a baseball cap on over my head, its peak shadowing my face. At least I looked vaguely presentable now, rather then resembling something that had crawled out of a ditch. Hopefully the sales people would give me the time of day.

I padded downstairs in my socks, gathering my shoes and coat together, pulling a pair of leather gloves on over my hands, as much to keep out the cold as hide the stupid pressure glove I wore. I had one last check that I looked presentable if not quite approachable in my current get up, before slamming the back door behind me, and crunching across the gravel of the drive. The whine of an engine turning into the drive and the crunch of the stones beneath car wheels made me stop in my tracks. Maybe Mum had come home earlier and I could take up my original plans.

Instead a dirty white car drew up, the smiling occupant behind the wheel peering out at me, her expression changing to one of confusion as she saw me standing in the driveway looking as if I were about to leave.

"Are you going somewhere?" Ali asked as I walked over to the driver's side of the car.

"Yes. What about you?"

"Tess and I just popped over to say hi, see if you wanted to go for a walk or something."

"Actually, you can do something much better then that," I commented vaguely. "Can you give me a lift somewhere?"

"Sure, get in. Where are you going?"

"The garage, I need to buy a car." Ali let out a startled laugh at my casual remark.

"Oh well, buy me one as well whilst you are about it. Buy a car, just like that? Do you even know what you want? Which garage you want to go to?"

"Yes, Hanovers," I said, walking around her ageing vehicle and climbing in, throwing the mess of papers and muslins onto the back seat next to Tess' car seat. She beamed back at me as I turned around and startled I smiled back at her, glad of the recognition.

"Isn't that the really posh place, all expensive cars," Ali commented, turning around and driving out the gate. "I think the cheapest thing there is over fifty thou. Has your insurance cheque come through or something?"

"Oh yeah ages ago, but I didn't want a car then and well," I paused and looked at her. "I do now; not having the freedom of wheels is really beginning to grate."

"Well that's fantastic," she said cheerfully at my comment and I frowned at her. _Do you like the idea of me being annoyed and pissed off?_ "It means you must be on the mend," she explained, obviously noticing my astonishment. "If you are frustrated by not being able to drive then you no longer need the security blanket of being at home, or not so much anymore. I felt the same way with Tess when she was little. It was really hard to leave the house at first, for I was so sure something would happen, but the more use you get to an existence, the easier it becomes."

"Err, yeah, I guess," I commented, not wanting to agree. If Ali thought I was on the mend, that my parents might also recognise the signs and ask me to leave my cosy existence, go back to fending for myself in London. I would have to face the biting world up there again and I was not sure if I was ready.

"So what are you planning on buying then?" Ali changed tack, obviously seeing that I was less then enthused by her comment. "Anything in mind?"

"Don't know," I shrugged. "A Porsche I guess, that's what I use to have before, well before…" I trailed off.

"Is that how you got hurt? You were in a car accident?" Her words were astute, her tone soft.

"Yeah." Another shrug, it was not something I wished to dwell on, however, out of the corner of my eye I could see the twist of her mouth. She had told me about her situation, I might as well let her know about mine. "It was a pile up and my car managed to catch fire as well, hence getting more then just a few broken bones." I smiled ironically, causing my mouth to turn downwards at the thought. Ali grimaced in agreement and shifted down a gear, the decrepit vehicle whining in protest as it was forced to slow down. Yet she didn't comment or offer any mindless platitudes about the situation, instead concentrating on the road ahead as we pulled away from the busy intersection.

"The garage is just up ahead on the left," I said quietly, wishing to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled over us. She simply nodded in agreement, sucking her lip as she switched lanes in the busy traffic that flowed away from town.

We bumped over the kerb and into the parking lot of the garage, the small rusty vehicle out of place amongst the gleaming metal and leather of the cars parked across the forecourt. I waited besides the car as Ali extracted Teresa's buggy and firmly strapped her into it, slinging the change bag across the back and grabbing hold of the handles. She was obviously planning to look with me.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I checked.

"Oh yeah, I've never bought a new car before, this could be fun," she smiled cheekily. "I can help you choose, make sure you don't simply buy a penis extension."

"Uggh!" I felt myself blushing at her rude statement. Even though my language could easily be more crude and basic the reference to certain bits of the male anatomy left me feeling embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I have a dreadful mouth on me at times," she apologised with a laugh. "I didn't have you down as the prudish type."

"I'm not; I've obviously been at my parents too long." I switched my gaze from her laughing face to glance at the tag hanging in the window of the car we stood next to, vaguely noting the price. "Huh, that seems cheap; wonder what's wrong with it?" I muttered.

"Cheap? You call twenty grand cheap?" Ali stuttered behind me. "You obviously have far too much money Eric St John!"

"I mean cheap for what is on offer, not cheap as in the price," I hastily explained, not wishing Ali to get the wrong impression. In reality paying that sort of money for a car would not make a huge dent in my income, but I wasn't about to let her know that.

We wandered between the cars for several minutes more, as I gazed in the windows, with disinterest noting the differences between the makes and models. "We better go in as no one seems to want to come out," I commented after some fruitless searching, holding the door to the showroom open for the buggy. The smell of plastic and leather; unique to car sales rooms hit me immediately me, excitement rising in my veins as I thought about owing a set of wheels again.

It did not take long for one of the sales people to approach us, a smarmy fake grin plastered across his face as he took in the ragged trio we made. I watched him carefully, my eyes shaded by the brim of the cap, noting the shock that splashed across his face as he took in my strange features.

"Good morning Sir, Madam," his line of sight carefully trained towards my chest so that he did not have to look me in my eyes. I took an immediate dislike to him. "How may I help? Are you looking for a car?"

I quashed the sarcastic comments that sprung to my lips at his stupid line of questioning, delivered in a voice that labelled us as timewasters. Obviously our appearance did not bode well in their opinion. More then likely why no one had approached us on the forecourt.

"Yes, I am," my lips curled in a fake smile to match his odious manner."

"And what sort might you be looking for sir, what sort of price range?" He emphasised his last two words, no doubt, already looking for a reason to eject us from the showroom when our sum didn't match what was on offer.

"Hmm, I'm not sure," I said laconically, the need to be as difficult as possible welling up in me, to put the man in his place. "I suppose around fifty, maybe more." I glanced down through my eyelashes at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but to his credit he barely blinked. Obviously inhuman!

"I am sure we have something suitable in that price range, I assume you wish your wife to drive it as well and safe for you child?" I opened my mouth to correct his wrong conclusion but closed it again, not wishing to give him the upper hand.

"Yes." I could feel Ali's stare as she raked it over me, the confusion; anger and humour at my pretence.

"Eric," she hissed as the man marched out of earshot, trying to lead us in the direction of a large and expensive 4x4. I smiled back sarkily. "Why are you pretending we are married?"

"I'm not, he just jumped to the wrong conclusion and I am going to enjoy making him look a fool. Besides, don't you want to test drive some of these," I said sotto voce, gesturing to the gleaming vehicles around me.

"Well," the wistful note was evident in her voice as she took in the huge car we were standing next to. "Makes a bit of a change from my rust bucket! Oh go on then." She too plastered a fake smile onto her features, trying to make us look like a happily married couple.

One arm hooked through mine and both our hands resting on the handles of the buggy, we managed to put on quite a performance, that of a couple deeply in love.

A couple of hours later, Tess was getting fractious and I was exhausted. My head spun with the mindless jargon of cars, brakehorse power, fuel efficiency, top speeds. Between Ali and I we had tried out five different cars and now the smarmy salesman was waiting for me to make my choice.

This was my moment, to correct his assumption, to throw the need for a sensible family carrying vehicle out the window and instead demand a small sporty car, the cliché of the bachelor. My head whipped between the large 4X4 I had test driven, the courtesy car seat still strapped into the back and the small Porsche 911 that it had been my intention to purchase all along. Suddenly I felt a quiver of doubt. If I fulfilled my intentions, then I would never be able to take Ali and Tess out, for the sports car only had two seats. I would not be able to transport all the paraphernalia that went with a baby.

_Stop it Eric, this is not your family, you are not buying a car for them, you don't need a huge fuel-guzzling car. Buy the 911, after all that is what you want isn't it? _

"I know it is a difficult decision sir, but you did seem to like the last the most," the odious voice cut into my thoughts.

"Hmm," I glanced up at him, my eyes narrowing in dislike, staring at his plump lips and cheap tie. The man embodied everything I disliked about my sex and yet suddenly I found his advice to be true. "Yes, yes, I will take that one." I waved lazily at the top of the range Porsche Cayenne that Ali and I had taken out only a few minutes ago. I watched as the salesman faced lit up like a Christmas tree, obviously I had exceeded his expectations. He whipped out a sheaf of paperwork and tediously set to wading through it.

I had little patience for such thing and it was only when I had curtly answered all his questions regarding such trivialities as colour and if I need four zone air conditioning that he hit me with a figure. I was slightly surprised at the amount but wordlessly handed over my card and sat back with a sigh.

I could feel Ali's gaze on the back of my head, watching as she pushed Tess around the showroom, trying to comfort her. Thankfully she had probably not heard the price of the machine that I was buying, but it was still obviously expensive.

The deal done and with the staff literally bowing us out of the showroom, I felt slightly silly looking at our mode of transport home, ignoring the silence from my chauffer.

"Eric," she said finally after we had put a few miles distance between ourselves and the car showroom. "Please excuse me for asking but how much are you actually worth?"

"S'cuse me?" I was shocked by her forward question.

"Um, you have just bought a car for a sum that, well I have no idea how much you spent, but it was about five times my yearly salary and I know for a fact that they don't give platinum credit cards to just anybody. What are you worth, a million, two million?"

"Why do you want to know?" I replied cautiously. I was slightly worried. I did not have my friend down as the usual fame and fortune hunter and was disappointed to think she might be. If I told her the truth and found her attitude towards me change I would feel so shamed, so lost.

"Because, well, you don't seem to fit in with the stereotype. I've seem them, I know a few and they, well conspicuous consumption doesn't seem your thing. I mean you wear jeans from Marks and Spencers, yet you must have money! Insurance cheques don't cover eighty grand cars!" Her voice had risen a pitch and a flush rose up her neck showing her distress.

Thankfully before I had a chance to reply the baby burst into loud and noisy wails, tired and fed up of its morning, of being strapped into car seats and buggies. "Let's get Tess back to my parents and give her lunch" I suggested as quietly and calmly as I could above the noise.

The topic closed, Ali drove us back to my parents and we hurried inside with Tess, Ali literally pulling her food and bottle out of the bag before we had even made it through the door.

"Well thank god that particular ordeal is over," I commented blithely pulling the cap off my head and the gloves off my hands, followed by my coat. "I hate salesmen. Did you notice how they changed their attitude?"

"Um, yeah I guess," Ali commented her back to me as she stood at the microwave heating the food. I smiled at the way she seemed so at home in the kitchen and stooped to pick Tess up out of her infant carrier, propping her up on my hip so that she could look around. "Oh great would you sit with her on your lap so I could feed her, bib is in the bag and put a tea towel over your front," Ali instructed me bossily as I sat down.

"What is that?" I directed my gaze towards the pot of orange goo that she now held in her hand.

"Carrot, or it was a carrot before it was boiled to death and then purred to a pulp, but that is the joy of weaning babies and she seems to enjoy it." She shrugged and sat opposite me, bending over to make eye contact with her daughter, spooning food into her mouth as she smiled, laughed and sung to her. I found myself caught up in the moment and joined in with the rendition of 'The Wheels on the Bus'.

"All day long," I sang, drawing out the last note, before stopping when I saw Ali looking at me.

"You have a beautiful voice," she said with a smile. "It isn't shown off at its best with nursery rhymes, but it really is nice."

"Coming from someone who spends time with singers, I will take that as a huge compliment."

"You are a dark horse Eric, you know that? Are you aware that you've never even told me what you do?"

"Haven't I? Oh." I paused, searching for a way to summarise my former job.

"Your mother told me though." She added.

"Well then it is bound to me inaccurate," I saw her lips curl slightly as she spooned more goo into her daughter. "She never truly understood. Did she say I was a writer or a producer?"

"Um" Ali frowned as if trying to remember and I found myself admiring the way her forehead moulded itself into perfect wrinkles. "She said that you wrote music and made CDs, which I read as a producer. Correct?"

"Sort of, I had a record label and I sort of did everything depending on what was needed. Dev was my long suffering assistant that is why he treats me like he does I think. But my company was bought out a few years ago and so my involvement became a lot less, more of a managerial role when I chose to get involved. They have kinda' dispensed with my services though."

"Are they allowed to do that? Surely not."

"I don't really think I want to go back. I am," I paused trying to gather my thoughts and Ali, understanding my silence cleaned Tess off and took her out of my arms, offering her the bottle of milk. "I am not the same person I was," I finally offered. And I actually don't want to do music production anymore. I want to get back to composing."

"Composing?" I watched her ears prick up at the comment and she looked up at me, her eyes glittering and assessing. "You are a composer?"

"Yeeess," I thought of the piece of music sitting upstairs on my piano. "I gave it a stab when I first left college, but it is rather difficult to get a foothold."

"I know what you mean. I was so lucky to get a place in the company when I left school, few of us did. I had friends from my year who must have auditioned for every major ballet company around the world and were turned down. It is a cut throat world out there for anyone in the arts. I can honestly say I will not be encouraging my daughter into that life." She looked at Tess as she spoke, her eyes shining with love and for a moment I wished she would turn the same gaze on me.

"What if she has talent?"

"Then I won't stop her, but at the same time I won't glamorise what it is really like, rather tell her the truth, the physical and emotional pain that it takes to stay on top. I assume it is similar in the world of music?" I gave a half-hearted shrug in agreement, fascinated by what she was saying, not wishing to stop her. "I mean your whole life becomes wound up with your job and you cannot separate the two and before you know it the whole thing is so involved and it is almost impossible to step back and gain any perspective on the situation."

"Um, yes," I agreed, unsure where she was leading the conversation. "Would you like a sandwich and a cup of tea?"

"Oh, yes please." She was momentarily disrupted but returned to her subject tenaciously. "No, I am not going to encourage my daughter to enter a profession that demands your soul, not unless she is fully aware of what it entails and the trouble is that you're rarely are at the age when you need to make the decision. I mean if I hadn't got into ballet school when I was eleven then, god I probably would not even be living in this country. I would be in America, talking with an American accent, probably married to some Ivy League jock and living in Maine, being a society hostess and everyone would say that I should have been a dancer or something."

From my position of relative safety behind the kitchen counter I frowned. It was obvious that something was bugging her; after all Ali was being more forthcoming about her feelings then she had ever been before on the handful of occasions that we had met.

"I am sure it is the same with you Eric. What would you have done if you didn't have music in your life?"

"I um," I hesitated unsure. "I don't know really, it has always been there. Something in the City like my father I guess."

"Exactly, it has always been there. How old were you when you started playing a musical instrument?" I paused in the act of making sandwiches and tried to think.

"I think I was messing around on the piano about four and the violin at five, maybe six. Not sure. I passed my grade one piano when I was six though, that much I remember." I frowned again, sifting through hazy memories, trying to pinpoint a time when music wasn't in my life, but I couldn't.

"Exactly, see you are so wound up in what you do that you cannot separate the rest of your life from it. And then mistakes get made." I looked at the direction of her gaze, taking in Teresa who was draining the last dregs of her bottle and suddenly got an insight into where her irritation and annoyance with her chosen profession came from. Possibly also why she had sought my company out today. She needed someone to talk to.

I silently finished making our lunch and put it all onto a tray. "Come with me, I have something to show you," I said gruffly, indicating with a nod of my head that she was to follow me. She stood up, confusion in her eyes, but did not question my command, instead, with her child on her hip, climbed behind me, up two flights of stairs and into my music room.

"Oh Eric," she breathed as we entered the whitewashed space and I set the tray down on top of the shelves with a silent sigh of relief, before sitting on the piano stool.

She said no more but started to walk around the room, her rubber soled shoes making no sound on the floor as she looked at the memorabilia on the walls. Yet at the same time I could sense her agitation, it was pouring off her in waves and coupled with her earlier verbal outpourings, I knew something was wrong.

"Ali, what's bugging you?" The words left my mouth before I really had a chance to think about them. _Damn._

"Bugging me?" She spun around from her examination of an article, confusion and fire flashing in her eyes. "How do you know something is _bugging_ me?" I shrugged, unable to put words to my intuition, just watched as she sunk onto the sofa with a world weary sigh, placing Tess in the corner so she was propped up against the arm and back, before flopping her head back against the cushions.

I studied her slim form, her lean legs encased in a pair of faded jeans, her feet in round toed converse, no doubt comfortable for the blistered toes I had witnessed the other week. Her small chest was enveloped in a fitted white t-shirt, over the top of which she had tied a little woollen shrug. She looked tired and slightly messy, her hair once again pulled off her face into a bun, no doubt a force of habit. I longed to take her in my arms and kiss her, reassure her that life was not so bad, but was scared to have my advances rejected again.

"Okay you're right," she said sitting up and waving her hands. "Yes there is a lot bugging me and no I don't know where to start."

"At the beginning."

"It's a very good place to start," she echoed with a sweet singing voice, that made her child smile. "Yes, yes. So what is the beginning, my job? My home? My life or the lack of all three – potentially."

"What?" It took a while to process the information.

"I am due back at work in a month, no less then that, three weeks and am no bloody nearer figuring out how to look after Tess and dance for a living, added to which if I don't go back then I don't get paid and then I cannot afford rent and I would not put it past my dearest father to chuck me out on the drive and as for my life; well," she puffed her cheeks out in frustration and held her hands up in the air as if to signify the hopelessness of the cause.

"Anything else?" my tone was mild, trying to tease a smile out of her, I was not serious, she seemed to have enough on her plate.

"Only that James has suddenly woken up to the fact that he has a daughter and is demanding to see her. Keeps using the history card on me, how can I reject him given our history together? He loved me, he always loved me. Yeah right, loved me so much that he abandoned me to give birth all on my bloody own. Do you have any idea how scary that was?"

"Err, no." Honesty seemed the best policy, but for the first time I was able to catch a glimpse of the mess her life was in. My problems seemed to dwindle and disappear compared to the mountain that she had to climb. My hesitation faded to silence, for I had no idea what advice to offer. Her predicament seemed to have no escape route – at least nothing obvious.

In a vain attempt to do something, anything to fill the silence I handed her the lunch I had made and resumed my position at the piano, idly stroking the ivories with one hand as I stuffed a sandwich into my mouth with the other, forcing myself to chew and swallow.

"That's a nice little phrase."

"Pardon," I looked down at my fingers on the keyboard, tapping out a few notes on the piano. It was second nature to the point that I did not even realise I was playing. "Oh, thanks." I finished my hasty lunch and swinging my leg over the stool put both hands to the keys. "Tell me what you think about this then." With a few misgivings I played her a few bars of my composition, not wanting her to know that she was the muse behind its creation.

"Eric that is beautiful. Is that something you composed? God I can just see how to dance to it." She smiled at me and stood up to come over. I hastily flipped over the score sitting on the rack so that she could not see the title. "Play me some more." I willingly obliged and felt the slight pressure on my shoulder as she placed her hand on it and swayed in time to the music.

"I've recorded it if you want to take it home and listen to it in full," I offered, picking up a stack of CDs balanced on top of the piano amongst the sheet music.

"Do you? Could I? That would be fantastic, would love to choreograph to this, you can feel the steps wanting to come out. So many modern compositions jar and it can be really difficult to dance to, but this is …" she trailed off abruptly from her enthusiastic monologue. "That is great Eric," she said calmly and I could almost feel her starting to withdraw again, the warmth of her conversation freezing; leaving a chill in the air.

"Ali?" She had returned to the couch and sat down with a sigh, placing her head in her hands.

"It still doesn't bloody solve anything though, does it?" came her muffled reply. "It doesn't solve any problems."

"Such as World Peace?"

"Exactly," she looked up and gave a snort of laughter that quickly changed to a hiccup. "Although at the moment I would settle for childcare and place to live in London."

"It can't be impossible though can it? You cannot be the only person in the company to have ever fallen pregnant?"

"No, no it is not impossible. You need a good nanny or backup network and that is what I am lacking. That and the money to find somewhere halfway decent to live. I didn't mind slumming it when it was just me, but I have Teresa to think of now."

"How often do you actually need to be up there for? How often do you dance or have classes?"

"Um, well class everyday, except for Sundays and then a performance five times a week maybe, mostly in the evening, but occasionally a matinee, probably. You see Eric; it just doesn't fit in with having a baby! I know people go back, but it usually because they are such big names that exceptions are made for them. I, on the other hand am replaceable. And as I have no money or support, I might as well give up, don't you think?"

"No, never give up, we will find a way around this, there must be a solution, we just need to think it through." I didn't even think the words as I spoke them, emphasis on the joint contribution. It seemed natural after the ease of the morning. I hesitated waiting for the verbal blasting that I was sure would follow. It didn't.

"D'you think we could?" Ali asked shyly, looking up at me, her face holding a fragile hope. My heart swelled at her use of 'we'.

"Yes defiantly," I said with more confidence then I felt. "Let me see, for starters you need somewhere to live I take it." I knew exactly how the situation could work, planned it out quite a while ago. There was a solution. _Oh please Ali, accept it, don't throw it back in my face_.

"Yup, close to central London, Zone one would be nice and less then three hundred a month!" She added with light hearted sarcasm. "I think that is the hardest part, rents are so huge in London that it leaves little else for living. I've done the rudimentary sums and how can I afford childcare and rent."

"Obviously you need help with the rent and help with childcare, what most evenings and a few hours everyday."

"Yes," she picked Tess of the sofa again and once more started wandering around the room. This time I followed her and whilst she was distracted went and placed her hand on my shoulder.

"Come and live with me I offered. "Come and share my flat and I will help you look after Tess." I closed my eyes briefly waiting for the offer to be flung back in my face.

"What?" She turned and looked at me, her eyes deep and troubled, but with a hint of hope in them. "You want me to move in with you?"


	12. Chapter 11

**I've had real problems uploading this - it won't accept documents written in Word 2007 as they are .docx - you have been warned! On another note and out of curiousity, can someone please tell me what S.U.V stands for? We call cars like that 4x4 in England (or Chelsea tractors if you are being disparaging). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter - it moves the story along a bit.**

_Three Months Later_

_Ali's Story_

Jelly – that is what my legs felt like. They no longer had any substance to them, instead there was only the numbness that set in once the threshold of pain has passed and I passed it quite a while ago, one hour and fifteen minutes, give or take.

And yet the smile never left my face, my arms stayed rigidly en couronne and held the arabesque without moving; without wavering, mirroring the movement of those around me. And in the middle of our group the final dying moments of the ballet were being enacted. Thank god were the words echoing in the back of my mind. Thank heavens.

Finally the curtain came down and we were all able to stumble back to our respective dressing rooms, the principals to their individual cubby holes, the artists to the large room we all shared. We stripped off our shoes and tutus, examined our bruised and blistered feet and wiped off our makeup, completing another astounding performance.

Prudishness was a vanity we no longer had in our profession, as we sat around in various states of undress, not caring that we could all see each others bodies. We all resembled each other – sinewy corded muscle in our legs and arms, flat taut stomachs, well the other girls anyway. Released from its Lycra imprisonment, mine still had a slight wobble to it and was crisscrossed by the stretchmarks of pregnancy.

I hastily donned my street clothes; there was no reason to hang about backstage and every reason to get home and slipped out the dressing room with a cheery goodnight to the other dancers, leaving them to their gossip and chatter. Ten-thirty, I had fifteen minutes to get to the bus stop and hopefully if the crowds pouring out the theatre and squashing around the stage door were polite I would make it with ease.

As I scurried along the corridors, heading for the exit a hand shot out and waylaid my path. "Whoa," the cry fell from my lips as I spun around, the fingers closing in a firm grip around my wrist, stopping me from making any further progress.

"Ali," his voice was husky and warm and he stepped out of the shadows, into the muted lighting in the middle of the corridor.

"James," I replied briskly. Shit, shit shit, what did he want now?

"That was a really great performance tonight; you haven't lost it at all you know."

"Thank you." The words fell graciously from my lips, I didn't think he simply wanted to complement me or pay lip service and I didn't have the time or the inclination to play his games. I stared at his hand, still clasped around my wrist. "Is there anything else? I am in rather a hurry."

"Just thought you'd like to know that there is a whispering that Madame wants to see you tomorrow morning. Forewarned is forearmed." I frowned, a slight dread freezing the flow of blood around my hot body. I didn't think I had done anything wrong, I hadn't created any disturbances. I had missed class a couple of days ago; Tess had been running a low temperature.

"Do you know why?" Damn, this is what he wanted, to draw me into conversation. I had been studiously avoiding James since I had returned to work; no easy task in a close knit company such as ours, especially given our history. Thankfully people tended towards sympathy and did not go out of their way to pair us up, despite our well matched abilities and techniques.

"No, I am sure it can only be good news," he smiled down at me and I shivered at the sight, for no reason it drove a frisson of fear down my spine. When once I would have done anything for him to look at me like that, now I wanted none of it, nothing to do with him. Unfortunately it didn't seem he felt the same. "So why don't we go out for a drink to celebrate?"

"Tonight?" I glanced at my watch, noting that he still held my wrist, although his fingers had slipped, curling around my palm. "I can't I'm sorry, I have to get home, I'm running late already. Bugger, a wasted five minutes, now I would have to run for the bus.

"What, in a hurry to get home to that freakish boyfriend of yours?" I had been right to fear his smile, for the lips curled into a snarl.

"He is not my boyfriend, he is my housemate and no; I am not in a hurry to get home to him, I am in a hurry to get home to my and _your_" I spat the word at him, "daughter. Goodnight James." With a determined tug, I freed my hand from his grasp and ran off down the hall, not looking back, not wanting to feel his gaze follow me.

With hurried steps I ran to the exit, pushing past the people waiting to see the stars of the show and ran through the bustling night streets of Covent Garden to the bus stop; thankfully that the warmer temperatures meant that I was not shivering with the cold after the warmth of my performances.

I reached my stop with seconds to spare, seeing the lumbering vehicle coming down the road I leapt on as it trundled passed, flashing my pass at the driver and settled back in my seat with a sigh.

I rather enjoyed my forty minute commute back to Shoreditch, it gave me a precious chance to be truly alone, in a way that I could be no where else. Commuters were a breed in themselves, they valued their space, their little cocoon of isolation and I was no different. At home I was a housemate and mother, at work a dancer, but for an hour and twenty minutes a day I could settle back and be me, slip into that little private world that I held close to myself and ruminate on my life, lecture and chastise myself, make plans, make lists, daydream and wish.

On this night my thoughts turned to what was waiting for me at home. A cosy scene, one that I had bought into the day I had accepted Eric's offer. The devil was charming indeed, but I had been desperate and so with great reluctance I accepted, fearful of the implications, but willing to overlook them in order to put a roof over my daughter and my head and try to carve a living out of this world for us.I had barely known Eric at the time. A month or so of tentative friendship was hardly the basis for moving in with someone. I am sure if I had asked the opinion of any friends they would have warned me off with stern words. But I didn't ask. There was something in his eyes that day that made me say yes, even when I believed I should say no.

And so, with little to do and within a couple of weeks we were installed (or reinstalled in his case) in a rather grand, bachelor style penthouse apartment in trendy Shoreditch, home to record producers and artists, fancy warehouse offices and cutting edge restaurants.

At first I could not assimilate what I saw with what I knew about the owner. In my opinion Eric was the rather spoilt son of a loving traditional family. The lifestyle I had built up for him, based on what I had been told by his mother and less by himself and what I had imagined did not add up to the reality. Once I thought he would work in the city, finance maybe; like his father and that he would live in a charming little flat that reflected his mother's traditional taste. I was very wrong.

The apartment was huge, really huge; a homage to everything expensive and modern. I didn't even want to know how much it must have cost him, but I am sure it was the sort that came up in property listings when you typed in fanciful price ranges with lots of noughts on the end.

Massive glass windows overlooked a stunning patchwork of city roofs, over to the grey steel thread of the Thames, and beyond. The vast wooden reception, open planned from the kitchen through to the living and dining areas was furnished with an eclectic range of modern yet surprisingly comfortable furniture and the only thing that seemed out of place in this bachelor pad was the gleaming ebony grand piano.

In true single man style there was every gadget under the sun, the lighting, heating and air conditioning all controlled at the flick of a switch. Music, television and sound all ultra modern and wired into the walls, so there were no trailing cables. You could listen (and he often did) to music in any and every room in the house from the one sound system and the television that graced the wall was a state of the art plasma screen.

The curved wooden staircase led to an upper mezzanine floor and here we had our bedrooms. Eric's was a huge master en-suite bedroom that I occasionally had the audacity to hover in the doorway of. A massive double bed draped with fine bed linen and soft woollen throws took centre stage, his clothes hidden behind floor to ceiling cupboards. Apart from a couple of expensive looking black and white photographs and a framed manuscript it was rather spartan.

The other rooms on the floor were, in contrast smaller, although my room was still big enough to fit a double bed and Tess had her own space, a greater luxury then the accommodation I had been allocated at my father's house.

With a start I realise I had wallowed in memories all the way home and the bus, unhindered by the usual snarl of traffic had plunged its way along the roads in double quick time. I pressed the button with haste and moved towards the doors, swaying slightly with the lumbering of the bus and jumping off as it stopped.

A brief walk took me to the charms of Hoxton Square and my home. I paused outside the nondescript front door, another faceless modern block, which were sprouting up like mushrooms in between the traditional architecture of the area. It was juxpositioned between an old warehouse on the one side and a timeless brick building on the other. However four floors up gave an entirely different view.

I opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Eric if he was busy, trying to be inconspicuous as possible. It seemed impossible for the open plan style meant that from his position on the sofa where he seemed to be watching television, the front door was in plain view.

He had turned most of the lights off, just leaving a couple of spots highlighting the granite kitchen worksurface. Any illumination in the living room came from the television screen, casting a flickering movement of light across the walls and ceiling.

"Hey Eric," I greeted him as I came in with a smile, watching the way the light of the television reflected in his mask, bathing him in an eerie glow.

"Hey Ali, you got back in good time. Had a good show?"

"Yeah, but god I'm exhausted. Did Tess go down okay?" He nodded his head and made a positive noise, obviously not wanting to be drawn into conversation, his attention on whatever it was that he was watching. I smiled again and slipped up the stairs to take a shower.

The landing light was on and I quietly crept into my daughter's room, smiling as I looked at her curled up in a small ball on her stomach, her face turned to one side and scrunched up against her teddy bear. Her light golden curls tumbled around her head and her small face was puckered up in the frown of a deep sleep. Resisting the urge to pick her up for a cuddle I gently laid my hand on her head. "Goodnight my love, God bless," I whispered for her ears alone and left as noiselessly as I entered.

Shower, that was what I needed next. The sweat of the performance clung to me like a second skin as I stripped off my jeans and t-shirt and climbed under the spray. Ideally I would like to take a deep wallowing bath, fill the room with bubbles and steam, but my growling stomach would not allow me to indulge. I was far too hungry; for on performance days it was wise to only eat lightly before you went on stage; meaning that I always came home ravenous.

Therefore ten minutes later I was in my pyjamas and padding back downstairs to raid the kitchen of anything and everything I could find to eat.

"I ordered a takeout for us from Yelo if you want some," Eric called, obviously noting my prowling. "It's in the oven."

"Thanks," I called back over my shoulder, opening the door and finding a steaming plate of Thai food from my favourite local restaurant. "Oh yum." Barely pausing to pick up a fork I moved over and joined him on a chair, curling my legs under me. He didn't converse, but just glanced over, amusement quirking his lips as he watched me shovelling the food into my mouth, barely chewing in my hasty hunger.

"Did you enjoy inhaling that?" he asked, with mild sarcasm as I put the plate down and belched lightly, clutching my rounded belly.

"That was soooo good." I leant back in the chair and disinterestly watched the programme, quickly realising it was an old Audrey Hepburn movie. "Why are you watching this?" I asked with curiosity, it seemed a strange choice for a man.

"Not sure, it just caught my attention." He shrugged. "I've always like Audrey Hepburn, there is just such a…"he paused and waved a hand in the air, chicness, about her."

"Chicness, that's not a word, I teased, before pausing with a slight frown and studying my housemate, there was something different and I could not quite figure out what. The dreadful plastic mask pressing against his face was in place, check, raggedy ponytail tied back, check. Usual clothes of jeans and t-shirts, check. I frowned more deeply, trying to figure it out without seeming obvious.

The more I got to know Eric, the more I realised that the metamorphosis he had been through was huge and painful. The flat reflected the sort of life he must have once lived, modern, cutting edge and designed to impress. He had led the style of life I could only dream of. Everything around us screamed of money and wealth, from the modern furniture, to the art on the walls.

All around were reminders of how his existence use to be, how he had obviously had a very active social life.

Worst of all were the pictures on the walls. They hung there mocking and nasty. Whilst he was not obviously vain enough to frame his own photo, there were still photographs of him with his parents, partying with friends and with various bands he had managed, hanging next to the awards they had won. Frames upon frames of gold and platinum disks paraded across the painted blue of his study.

It was cruel when you saw just how good looking this scarred man had been. He had once had the sort of face that made you stop and look again for its perfect uniformity and beauty. His high cheek bones and deep blue eyes, the determined chin and full sensual lips. Now it was all lost in a mass of scar tissue and pushed up against the moulded plastic of the mask he wore to try and ease the scarring.

I studied him again and suddenly noticed the change that had failed to register before. "Your hand!" I exclaimed with enthusiasm.

"What about it?" he glanced down at his left hand with vague amusement at my random comment.

"Not that hand silly, the other one, you don't have your glove on!" I paused, treading carefully with my words. "Is that because you – or did you just forget…"

"You are very good at not saying what you are trying to ask?" humour rounding out the tone of his voice. "Yes, it was torture day at the hospital today and they were pleased with the scaring, said I only needed to wear it for twelve hours a day. Nighttimes only!"

"Oh Eric," I clambered off the chair and sat down next to him, wrapping my arms around his neck in a friendly hug. "I am so pleased for you." His hand came up and grabbed my arm, forcing me to keep the lock around him and in the gloom I noticed that the scarring was soft and moulded, merged into the skin across his knuckles. I squeezed him again and pulled away, forcing him to let go, the bounds of intimacy already too great.

I was careful at keeping my distance with Eric. Knowing the candle that he carried me for me I went out of my way to discourage any notion of romance that he might carry. Not that I was cruel or disparaging in any way, far from it. Instead I decided to treat him like the older brother I never had, as a member of my non existent family. I did not have the support of my brother, mother or father, so I just decided to borrow and steal from him instead.

Helena was humanity herself, often taking Tess for the day when Eric went down to the hospital and I was engaged with classes and rehearsals. Three days a week my daughter went into nursery and two days a week I simply went in for class and had the rest of the day off. For those mornings, Eric would keep her entertained.

And so here I was, fully immersed in the St. John household, a fully fledged member, with no ties and no rights to the affection and compassion I received from all the family.

It was cruel to discourage my flatmate from falling head over heels in love with me. But I was scared, scared too commit, scared to let myself be in love again and potentially expose myself to the pain that I had been through only a year ago. Therefore I kept him at arms length. The pain of unrequited love was less then the pain of love lost.

With a start I realised Eric was speaking to me, whilst I sat immersed in my thoughts.

"Yes," I replied at random, not hearing what he had asked.

"So you think it is a good idea if I get a sex change then?" He continued. "Thank you for your opinion."

"What?"

"Ali, you didn't listen to a word I said," He replied mildly, "so I was just testing. I actually asked if you are dancing tomorrow evening."

"No, no. Two nights in a row, plus a matinee is for masochists only," I shook my head in the negative, pushing a stray lock of hair off my face. My action was stilled by his hand touching mine, holding it and pulling it down. I didn't resist, enjoying the sensation of his touch so we sat there, our fingers entwined as mine ocasionally brushed the soft new skin.

He didn't say anything, didn't even turn and look at me, but we just sat side by side on the sofa, holding hands, like a couple of love struck teenagers, our attention on the movie.

"Eric," I whispered and he turned to look at me, a question in his eyes. There was something in his depths that scared me and I found the words that I was about to say freeze on my tongue. "I'm beat; I'd better go to bed."

Once again I took the coward's way out, scared to continue the intimacy, although it was pleasant to be touched again, satisfying to once again have intimate skin contact with someone. But holding hands was just the beginning and it was not a path I wished to travel.

Releasing my fingers, I bent over and kissed the top of his head, in a gesture of sisterly affection. "Night night, don't let the bed bugs bite," I said in a teasing voice, frantically rebuilding fences. He said nothing, his lips quirking in a sad little smile.

I moved across the floor and had my foot on the first step before he spoke. "Ali," he turned around on the sofa, leaning across the back to look at me.

"Yes."

"Sleep well." I nodded sagely and with his chaste goodnight ringing in my ears, climbed the stairs to find my bed.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I suppose I should have said that I went to bed, but lay awake, tossing and turning with the potential scenarios of what had happened between Eric and I playing out in my mind. That I rose with sexual frustration to go and seek him out. I slipped into his bedroom in my diaphanous nightgown and he turned to me, huskily whispering sweet nothings in my ear, before laying me back on his goose down pillows and worshiping my body.

Nope, sorry that is for romance novels and this was the real world. I fell into bed in my usual tatty; once were pink, now a sort of grey blue colour pyjamas and was asleep the instant my head hit the pillows; too exhausted both physically and emotionally to even fantasise about fantasising.

I slept like a log as well, probably snored; although Eric never said anything if I did. Either way it was a strange noise that wound its way into my dreams. I found myself standing on the edge of the road, trying to speak to my housemate, a bundle clutched in my arms; which contained a child. Although I could not see its face; for dreams are very persistent in what they reveal and what they do not, I knew it was not Tess, but another baby which I was attempting to give to him. The only trouble was that he was on one side of the road and I was on the other and the four lanes of traffic that separated us was flowing fast; too fast to cross.

The crying bundle became louder and more insistent as I sought a way to go to Eric and give him the baby, tell him; tell him something, but I didn't know what for the crying was getting louder all the time, a hysterical note staring to creep in.

I sat bolt upright in bed, my hair clinging to my face in sweat drenched strands. The crying continued and it took a good few seconds for my brain to bat away the cobwebs of sleep and realise that it was my daughter making such an unholy noise.

My foot was out of the bed before I even became consciously aware that I needed to go to her. In the gloom of the light from the hall I could make out that it was three in the morning. Shit, what an anti-social hour.

"Shh, Tess darling, shh," I whispered creeping into her room, using the dim light to make out the heaped figure in the cot. I rubbed her back softly and put her dummy back in her mouth, hoping that she had just spat it out and could not find it. But she continued to yell, tugging at her ear and rubbing a little fist against the side of her face.

"Shh darling, do your teeth hurt lovie," I murmured to her, hoping to calm the hysterical sobs down. "Do you want some medicine darling?" My words came out thick and slurred, tiredness pulling me back down, my eyelids heavy, desperate for sleep.

With a wince I went to the bathroom and turned the light on, blinking like an owl in the sudden bright glare and finding the little syringe which I filled with Calpol, the opiate of choice for children. It took two attempts before I managed a full syringe minus huge bubbles and turning the light off stumbled back into her nursery.

"Holy shit," the swear came involuntarily, for in the dim light and with sleep filled eyes; I saw a great winged beast crouched in the corner of the room and holding my daughter. As my vision adjusted I realised it was Eric, cuddling Tess, a blanket draped around his shoulders and wound around my daughter. His mask was firmly in place and the glove back on his hand. In addition his mouth was distended by a small clamp that he wore at night in an attempt to stop the skin shrinking and tightening too much. All in all it was an off putting sight when you were half asleep.

In response to my curse, he lifted a hand and removed the surgical brace, speaking in a hushed tone. "Have you got some medicine for her?"

"Yeah, I think she's teething."

"Let me have it, I'll settle her and you go back to sleep, you have to get up tomorrow and I don't."

"Are you sure?" The offer was too delicious for words and my brain immediately seized the opportunity, even if my conscience rejected the proposal.

"Yeah, I was awake anyway." He held out a hand for the syringe and Tess whimpered slightly as the warmth of his arm moved, snuggling in closer to him. Realising that she was as happy with his presence as mine I relinquished my responsibility and stumbled back to bed.

As I lay there, sleep once again clouding my mind, I heard the soft tones of a lullaby being sung, soothing both me and my daughter back into the land of dreams.

It was the last thing I was conscious of before once again falling back into my deep slumber, although this time it was the alarm that rent my sleep. Still groggy, I swung my leg out of bed, trying to remain horizontal as long as possible. Seven hours sleep just no longer seemed enough.

I stumbled into the bathroom splashed my face before going into Tess's room to wake her up. It took an hour for both of us to get up and out, she to nursery and me to class. "Darling," I yawned strolling into her room, pausing to let my eyes adjust to the dim light. I stopped startled for my daughter was not in her cot.

Fear and panic flooded through my body; the adrenalin pounding as I spun around, looking for her amongst the piles of soft toys or in the rocking chair in the corner. "Tess?" The word came out as a pathetic whimper.

Think de Theale, think – she can't walk, she can't have gone far. I peered into the cot, just to make sure that she had not buried herself under the blankets or amongst the toys at the bottom of the cot. Nope, it was definitely empty.

I rushed out the room and towards Eric's, knowing that he would help; he would know what to do – and stopped dead. His door was wide open and I looked in, feeling as if I were spying; worried in case he was awake and cross at my intrusion. But instead a smile graced my face as I saw him, his head flung back on the pillows; one arm flung above his head and the other around my daughter, her face pressed into his chest, both of them fast asleep.

Obviously his attempts to soothe her last night had been futile. Sometimes, when she got her mind into it there was little to calm my daughter, but the warmth of someone else. It was much easier to cuddle her in bed and hopefully catch some shuteye at the same time – I had done it myself on occasion.

Not wishing to wake either of them I crept downstairs and made myself breakfast and generally gathered the various items that she and I needed for the day, all of which seemed to be scattered over the house. Then making a conciliatory cup of coffee and heating my daughter's bottle I went to wake the sleepers.

"Eric," I called hesitantly, softly, not wanting to jar him awake. There was no response from either of the figures in the bed. "Um, Eric," I called again from the doorway once again getting no response. My softly, softly approach was not working and I needed to get a move on, or would be late.

Desperation caused me to march into the room and putting the drinks down on the side table; I reached out and shook Eric with determination. "Eric!"

"Egh? Whaatt?" he blinked in shock at being woken and glanced around, his gaze resting on Tess, who was stirring at his side and at me standing over him. He reached up and wiggled his jaw, having obviously forgotten to put his brace in. "What's the time?" The words came out slightly husky and slurred as he regained feeling in his face.

"Quarter to eight and I need to get going. Do you mind if I steal my daughter?"

"Um, yeah, I," he pushed himself up to sitting and I noticed that he wasn't wearing a t-shirt, the first time I had seen him in less then full clothing. I tried not to let my gaze fall at the strange bandage he wore strapped across his chest and the skin that was on view. Having been around exceedingly athletic men most my life, I was surprised to see the vestiges of a body that had been in shape.

Obviously his arms were nicely biceped and corded, but his stomach showed signs of someone who use to carry out an intense workout. True, like me his physique showed signs of neglect, but once upon a time he must have been very fit.

Scared that he could tell where my gaze rested, I looked up through my eyelashes, thankful to see that he was more concerned with moving Tess to a more comfortable position and giving her the bottle to drink that I had placed on his bedside table.

"Look, if you're running late I'll take Tess to nursery," he volunteered, looking up from his reflection of my daughter.

"Oh um," I was thrown. In truth I had been diverted by the look of utter tenderness on his face as he gazed down at my daughter happily consuming her morning milk.

I hastily glanced at my watch and realised that time was galloping away with me if I was to stick to schedule. Tess into nursery by nine before a workout at the gym and a gentle thirty lengths in the pool, leaving me just an hour to get to the studio and be ready for class. "No, its okay, I think you must have both had a rough night," I excused his kind offer.

In reality I was worried that Tess would get confused over her parents. Eric did so much for her, his actions so kind and loving; thoughtful. He was more of a father to her then her own would ever be.

"Okay." He paused and rolled his shoulders, flexing his body. I felt rather embarrassed to see him so close and personal, the vestiges of sleep still clinging to him. It bought down his barriers; letting me see him as he really was and not the usually guarded façade that he presented, at least to me.

"I will just, um, go then," I gestured towards the door, feeling horrendously self conscious. "Just call me when Madam is finished with her bottle." Not waiting to hear his reply I bolted out the door and into my own room, leaning against the wall and pressing my hand to my heart where it thumped steadily below my palm. Why had I been so self-conscious? Why did the sight of him in bed arise feelings in me that I thought I was no longer capable of feeling? Why for the first time did I have to resist the urge to climb into his and lie there, feel his legs entangle with mine, have Tess lying between us?

"Oh help!" The words left my lips in a whisper, my sub-conscious telling me what I didn't want to hear. I was falling for my roommate.

Declarations of the heart aside, I managed to achieve the impossible and even with the horrendous London traffic get to work on time, having dropped my daughter off and been to the gym. Admittedly I only did twenty laps rather then thirty, but I still felt stretched and toned and ready for another gruelling day.

Yet I was distracted as I changed into my leotard and tights, covering up in a sweater, my muscles not yet fully warm and ready to face work I would demand of them. I absent-mindedly grabbed the ballet shoes I discarded after yesterday's performance and hit the points down on the floor – yup still enough support in them for rehearsals, which was good as I had not had a chance to prepare anymore shoes.

Taping up my toes to try and soften the blisters I tied the shoes on, wrapping the ribbons around my ankles and slipping the legwarmers over the top. It was all done with an automatic air, I no longer thought about the strange little rituals involved in getting ready for a days work.

I made my way to the airy studio, barely returning the greetings of my fellow colleagues in the company. Finding a place at the barre I stretched out, holding positions and allowing my body to slow move into the stretch, preparing itself for the day.

An automaton probably had more awareness of its surroundings, my entire concentration was taken up with thinking about the note that I had received that morning. Nothing in the brief two lines had given me any cause for either distress or happiness; it merely stated that Madam wished to see me after class. Whether this was to be chewed out for an indiscretion I was unaware of, or a chance of praise, I was not sure.

I didn't feel that I had earned any praise; therefore it was easier to worry. And worry made me dance horribly. I will never forget that class for I was like an untrained young girl in a professional company, doing my best not to trip over two left feet. Thankfully years of training paid off and my body automatically took over, for I would have otherwise fallen flat on my face. As it was there were several mutterings from those around me of my clumsy technique and lack of concentration.

My Grande battement were a disgrace which went on to affect my ronde de jambe and when it came to the fouéttes I wobbled so badly that I nearly lost my balance. Never have I been so glad for class to finish!

Dripping sweat and red with heat and embarrassment, I stretched half heartedly, my muscles large and full with the exercise, before going to the dreaded 'chat'. I didn't bother taking off my pointe shoes; with only half an hour before rehearsals started for Sleeping Beauty, there seemed little reason to. Besides, everyone was perfectly use to seeing ballerinas clumping around the building with their awkward gait, their feet tied into their shoes.

With shaking hands and a deep breathe I knocked on the door, using every single technique and trick I knew to make myself appear calm and composed. In front of me sat Madam, as we called her, head of the company and artistic director. She was responsible for all the appointments, all the hiring and firing. It was rather like being in the dragon's den.

"Ah Christine," she greeted me cordially and indicated that I should sit, where upon I happily collapsed into the armchair to the side of her desk. She looked at me with a gracious smile and I fancied that I saw a hint of fondness and memory flitting through her eyes as she let me relax before starting the conversation. "It is good to have you back and dancing. Are you enjoying it?"

"Yes," I answered to her slightly strange question, before expanding. "It is as if a part of me is back that I had lost. Life without dance didn't make sense. I missed it dreadfully."

"Well, you have had rather a run of bad luck. Your accident and then pregnancy. You are very lucky to still be dancing." I frowned at her accurate statement. It was true, very few people fell off a ladder and were dancing three months later. I had told Eric that I had broken my leg, which wasn't entirely true, just twisted and sprained it so that it had to be strapped up in a way that made it impossible to dance. It was easier to say I had broken it, people understood that terminology. But to call my pregnancy, to call Tess a run of bad luck!

"I have had a lot of support from a lot of people," I wondered where this discussion was leading, it didn't seem that I would be chewed out, but there was still a possibility. However I let myself relax infimitesily.

"And I believe you still do? We have been glad to see that you have barely missed class since your return, that you are punctual and that you have been fully putting yourself into all your roles. I take it you have help at home?"

"Yes, I have a very wonderful flatmate, who helps."

"But he's not your boyfriend?" I looked up in surprise not expecting to answer questions about my love life.

"No, he's not." I answered shortly, trying me hardest not to splutter in indignation. How dare she ask? But then I was unsure how to define my relationship with Eric. No, he wasn't my boyfriend, but he was my best friend, my saviour, my modern day version of a knight on a white charger. "Could I ask you why it is important?"

Madam smiled then, generous, fully and indulgently. "Excuse me for prying; I was just trying to build up a sketch of your situation. You see Christine, as I said you have had a run of bad luck. When you had your accident, you were on the verge of being promoted, we wanted you to be a soloist, but then with your injury it was felt that you needed a little more time to regain fitness. Just as we were talking about your promotion again you announced your pregnancy. Obviously promotion was once again out of the question. As a result, you are about a year and a half behind where we would expect you to be had everything continued as planned."

"Life very rarely works to plan, I've realised that," I replied calmly, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Yet she heard its veiled tones, for she raised her eyebrows.

"I agree, especially with dancers. We live in fear of our bodies collapsing and our health failing. It is a cruel profession that we chose, for you know the inevitable will happen one day." I nodded in reply again.

"So what I want to offer you Christine is a chance to catch up, to prove you have the talent that we all believe in. We would like to offer you a place as a Senior soloist in the company."

"What?" My head shot up and my mouth hung open in dazed belief as I listened to her golden offer. This was it; the chance I had been waiting for and working towards. Every tear shed, every hour spent in class, every blister, corn and sore toe was worth it."

"Yes, from tomorrow, although you can start marking the roles today in rehearsals."

"I am so thrilled, I could never imagine," I started to stumble out my thanks; but she stopped me with a warning hand.

"Of course there is always the bad with the good," her warning came and this time her smile was less generous, more calculating. "With this promotion, we feel that you would be best," she paused, "partnered with James Lexington. You two have an innate partnership and understanding, you dance so well together."

"Oh," my heart sank on the spot. I should have guessed that this would not be as good as it sounded. I could have the promotion I dreamed of; but the flip side was to have to renew the one relationship I was trying to avoid. The only understanding we had nowadays was how to hate each other. "You do realise that he is my ex?"

"So I understand and the father of your child?"

"Yes, although he doesn't um acknowledge it."

"I realise that this puts you in a difficult position Christine, that is why I wanted to know if your flatmate was your boyfriend, for I could see the problems if it had been so. However this is a job and whilst it might not be that easy, you need to put personal differences aside. You know each other so well; there is a technique there that is so fresh and natural. I hope you won't let your talent go to waste because of a past relationship."

I closed my eyes in dread, thinking of the hours I would have to spend with the one person on earth I never wanted to see again. "No, I won't." I replied, opening my eyes and looking directly at her.

"Good, well many congratulations Christine. I shall have a copy of your contract forwarded to you at home and if you can sign and return it. Meanwhile you best get to rehearsals and I look forward to seeing you on stage."

"Yes thank you," I got up, resisting the urge to curtsey like a schoolgirl at the end of class and clumped over to the door. Good god talk about the double edge sword. What the hell was I going to do now?

As it was, I did what ever dancer does when faced with a crisis. I buried it in the back of my mind and instead went to a punishing rehearsal for the production of Sleeping Beauty that was due to premier in a couple of months. As a First Soloist I would no longer be a rose waving peasant or a guest at the christening, but Princess Florine, partnering James as the bluebird in the pas de deux. As well as this I was to mark and understudy the role of the Lilac Fairy, second only to Princess Aurora as a principal ballerina role in the production.

I was miserable. My dreams come true and here I was holding the hand of the man I never wanted to see again. I had been able to keep my distant when I was in the corps and he was a soloist, but now he was up close and very, very personal.

It was true that our bodies intuitively remembered how to dance together. His hand touched my waist at the perfect point, his arms lifted me sure and strong, I was not scared in his balance. I knew that technically and artistically we were perfectly matched. Emotionally, I just wanted to be back home with Eric.

Finally, the end of rehearsal was called at five and I dashed off home to spend as much time as I could with my daughter. Every bone in my body ached, but none so much as my heart and my hope.

"Hi" Eric called out to me from where he sat on the floor with Tess, trying to interest her in chewing on something else then his finger. He looked up with a smile, which faded as he noted the dour look on my face. "Tess darling, Mummy's home," he spoke with tact, scooping her up and depositing her in my arms, knowing that my daughter would always bring a smile to my face.

Later that evening, after we had settled Tess and eaten, I sat on the sofa, industriously sewing ribbons on the half dozen pairs of ballet shoes I had bought home with me. Given the intensity of rehearsal and the fact that I was dancing for the next two evenings, I needed to be prepared. I already had one pair tied on to my feet, attempting to break them in; so the leather moulded to my foot.

"Why do you do that?" Eric asked in curiosity, coming to sit in an armchair opposite.

"Do what?" there was a frown in my voice as I was concentrating on sewing the small neat stitches that held my ribbons tightly in place; yet not piercing through the satin on the outside.

"Put them on. Do you realise that you look very silly sitting there in jeans and ballet shoes?"

"Probably. Can you imagine what it was like when there were five of us ballet dancers all living together in a house? You couldn't walk for abandoned shoes, every radiator was covered in tights and leotards and we didn't have enough chairs to sit on, but did have a barre fastened to the wall in the living room." He laughed slightly at the description of my student digs.

"Well, I suppose of all people dancers can say they suffer for their art."

"Oh yeah, don't I know it," I replied finishing the second ribbon and biting off the thread, tossing the shoe into the pile in front of me. "Right, s'cuse me." I stood up and clumped over to a clear space of wooden floor in front of the large picture window. With my hand lightly resting on the back of the chair, I rose slowly into a révele, arching my foot and trying to break the shank of the shoe in slightly, aware that Eric was watching my every move.

"And that makes them fit properly?" He asked his curious gaze looking at my feet.

"Ah ha," I vaguely replied, once again lowering myself down and rising again. "It just softens the shank and means that it isn't so hard to dance with. Okay." I did a few more lifts and then sat down on the floor and took the shoes off, bending the slipper back and forth with my hands and bashing it down on the floor slightly. "That should do it." I tossed the discarded pair aside and reached for the next set of shoes, putting them on my feet and tying the ribbons in an unhurried air.

"So why were you upset this afternoon?"

"What, when?" I looked up in shock and for the first time actually looked at Eric that day. He had moved and was leaning against the back of the sofa, his perching on it, his long legs crossed in front of him and his arms folded across his chest. His hair was down, falling across his face, as he looked down at me sitting on the floor, consternation and worry in his eyes.

"You looked like you'd just lost the winning lottery ticket," he attempted to sound light-hearted. "A cross between angry and upset."

"Yeah, that's pretty accurate." I stood up and went on point, once again flexing my feet and trying to soften the leather.

"And you have hardly spoken at all this evening."

"Eric; I've been busy. You try sewing on these damn ribbons, it's not that easy!" I snapped, he was getting too close to the truth and it was something that I wanted to hide. I'm not sure why. It could be that I feared his anger, or maybe that I felt it was not a battle he needed to help me fight.

"C'mon Ali; you can tell me. I'm you're friend." His tone of voice was soft and encouraging, making it all the more tempting to pour my heart out to him.

Okay, but it will cost you a foot massage." I stomped over to the couch, untied the still stiff shoes and wiggled my blistered and bruised toes, something I never usually tried to look at. Somehow I didn't think Eric would mind though.

He came and sat next to me, cradling my foot in his maimed palm and then using his sensitive musician fingers on his left hand to rub and massage the ball of my foot. I think he rued the day I had found out that he had such magical hands; or currently hand.

"I got promoted," I said at last, leaning back against the cushions with my eyes closed.

"Congratulations." He didn't gush or heap praise, but waited silently and patiently, obviously expecting more to the story.

"Yup, I am now a Senior Soloist, dancing major parts, understudying principle roles; great opportunity. Very high chance of being promoted to principal in the not too distant future."

"You don't sound like you are enthralled with it." He commented, squeezing my toes and using his thumb to rotate small circles on the base of my foot.

"Why?" I sat up, no easy task when your foot was being held. "Why does the opportunity I have wanted and work for come along and then blow up in my face? And why," I continued before he had even drawn breathe to answer, "am I unsure if I even want this. The higher you climb, the harder the work is. And I am torn, torn between wanting this, despite what I know is ahead and wanting to just be with my daughter and throw the dancing out the window."

"Isn't that rather drastic," Eric said pausing in his ministrations. "I mean throw away what; fifteen years of hard work and for what?"

"Try twenty years and I don't exactly see you following your dreams either," I threw back, falling into my old habit of hitting where it hurt to detract the attention away from myself."

"I can afford to at the moment," he replied, a slight pressure on my foot and a tightness to his voice warning me that I shouldn't go there. "Ali, don't think that you can just run away when it all gets difficult. Look, I will still be here and support you whatever, but don't throw it away just because you are scared of what might happen!"

"That's very sweet of you Eric," I was moved by his kindness and generosity; too wound up in my own problems to realise that it was more then just an altruistic move on his behalf. "But there is more to it then that."

"What?"

"It's my new, well," I hesitated. "They want me to dance with. Basically the whole promotion rests on me partnering James!"

"James!" I was slightly mollified when I saw Eric's reaction for it cannot have been much calmer then mine. He lifted his hands from my feet and stood up, starting to pace the floor behind the sofa. "That is such a load of …." He broke off but continued to pace; clasping and unclasping his hands.

"Would you stop doing that," I said tetchily a few moments later. I wanted advice and help, not pacing.

"Sorry," he glanced down at his hands. "I can no longer crack my knuckles. So why have they partnered you with your ex. Surely they are aware of the situation?"

"Yes, of course, but then they are simply running a business and all's fair if it brings in the profits. Besides, James and I dance very well together – there is an instinct there; after all he has been my partner since we were in Upper School together."

"And the fact that you can't stand the sight of him?"

"Irrelevant – as long as I can act that I love him on stage. The thing is, I trust him as a dance partner. He knows my weight; my balance and I know he will never drop me or pick me up badly. If I detach emotion I can see the sense. But how can I spend every day with him knowing that I have given birth to a little girl that is half his flesh and blood and yet he wants nothing to do with?"

"I can see why you were thinking of giving up. What about changing company?"

"Not so easy, The ENB tends to tour; not great with Tess and the Birmingham Royal Ballet and the Scottish National Ballet are a tad to far away for a daily commute," I added.

"No need for the sarcasm, I'm only trying to help." He leaned over the back of the sofa, so his masked face was only a few inches away from mine and I could see the pressure it put on his features. "Stop throwing it back in my face." For a moment I caught my breath, his closeness, the feel of his breathe on my face. All I wanted to do was hurl myself into his arms and howl that it was not fair.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," I apologised conciliatory. "But I can see no way out of this mess. I think if I wish for this promotion, I will just have to grin and bear it." I rested my head on my arms and looked at him over the back of the sofa, glumness etched on my face.

"Ali, please don't think it's that bad. As I said I will support you however I can." Eric crouched down so our faces were level; the wall of the sofa in between us. I had to resist the urge to kiss him on the lips in response to his kindness; his love for both Tess and I. It was ironic that this man who had known us for so short a space of time was willing to lay down his life and work to support me and my daughter; when my own former partner and father of my child was too selfish to assist in any way.

I couldn't find a reply to his words that didn't sound trite and stupid, or reveal to him the depth of feelings that were growing inside me. Instead I just smiled weakly. Eric took this as a sign that I was once again ready to do battle and stood up casting a cheeky grin down at me. "Besides you can't give up dancing."

"Why not?"

"Well you can't sing; your cooking is useless, you are horrifically messy and apart from sewing on ribbons your talents are not based in the home." I scowled in mock outrage and realising that he was teasing grabbed the first solid object I could find to throw at him.

He let out a wince and a laugh as first one pointe shoe and then the other sailed over the sofa and hit him square in the chest. "You sod," I cried in mock outrage; trying not to laugh at his jesting.

"Really?" He laughed again as I scrambled over the back of the sofa to retrieve my shoes; but instead of letting me reach them grabbed me around the waist. Years of training meant that I instinctively spun around in his grasp to look at him squarely; both of us pausing and looking at each other in silence.

Before I could react he pressed his lips against mine and gave me a long deep kiss.


	14. Chapter 13

**I am so sorry for the delay - I have been trying to upload for over a week and the site has not been cooperating. Many apologies, espeically to WhosThat who kindly wrote and asked for an update. All your messages and reviews are so encouraging I hope you all had a good Easter/Spring break etc. Anyway I babble on and had better go! Pips**

Chapter Thirteen

His lips landed on mine, warm and inviting, moulding to the shape of my mouth and kissing me hard, forcing my mouth open with his tongue. It teased what little breath was left in my mouth, before languorously roaming the inside of the cavity. It was all I could do not to flinch and slap him through the face, but that wouldn't do. Instead, I held my breath; closed my eyes and imagined that this is what I wanted. If I pretended hard enough; with every fibre of my being then maybe it would come true.

"And great, yes, I loved the emotion at the end there." The words of the artistic director broke the moment and I pulled away in blessed relief from James, glaring at his audacity. If looks could kill then he would have fallen over right there.

I stood my hands on my hips, trying to regain my composure and breath. It was an artistic practice; a very valuable session for as dancers we sometimes spent too much time on the technical side of our footwork and forgot about the acting. Two months after being promoted to soloist James and I were to have our first opportunity dancing a principal role.

Therefore on a warm Wednesday afternoon we were in the studio practicing the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. The idea was to make sure that we truly ennobled the scene with the true romance and passion that it was meant to contain. It was a very trying; for it seemed that James definition was to French kiss me as thoroughly as he could at every opportunity. Unfortunately for me the small team watching us thought it made the performance.

It was nearly five by the time I escaped that dratted room, not stopping to allow James a single second alone with me. Knowing his boorish opinions he would believe that the past four hours had rekindled our relationship.

Over the past two months we had danced a variety of roles together. Whilst I could never believe that the playacting passion was convincing, it seemed to be popular with the audiences. Understudying all the major roles meant that most of the time we were not the lead, but two occasions had offered me the opportunity to go out as the prima ballerina. Once when my poor friend had to finally admit that she could not go on dancing on her twisted ankle and had to retire only a couple of hours before curtain up; meaning that I went out in the costume of the Lilac Fairy; the second time when due to artistic differences; James and I were called upon to dance in the modern ballet; Pierrot Lunaire; a rather fantastical piece based on Schonberg's song cycle.

These performances were enough to convince the powers that ruled our fates that as a couple we would enhance the reputation of the company by being promoted to Principals. It was an honour that we had both been working towards the minute we graduated from dance school and now at the age of twenty-seven I had my chance to shine.

Yet, despite the honour and praise that had recently been poured on my dancing I was still unsettled and ill at ease with the way my life was going. I suppose it was partially my fault because I found it easier to bury my head in the sand rather then acknowledge the way my life was.

I took a deep sigh as I stripped off my sweaty practice dress and the tights and pants I wore underneath. Naked and uncaring about my body I strolled into the shower and eased the sweat off my body. My new status accorded me with an upgrade of space and now I had a miniature dressing room all to myself. It still didn't have much room to swing a cat, but it was mine and contained, luxuries beyond luxuries; it's own tiny coffin like shower.

For once I did not have to hurry for we had finished practice early and Tess was with Eric for the day. Therefore I relished in the stream of hot water, washing my hair and conditioning it; critically examining the split ends. Having you hair scraped back most of the time with pins and bands played murder on its condition and I could never find the time or the inclination to go to a salon. After all it was more of an annoyance; spending most of it's time in a bun or under a headdress or wig.

Rinsing my hair and roughly towel drying it I went and sat at my dressing table naked, letting the cool air blowing through the tiny window dry me and studied my reflection in the lighted mirror. My face gazed back at me cool and assessing, grey blue eyes looking at me with …I could not assess the emotion in my face. On the surface it was calm and peaceful, underneath it was as turbulent as the sea.

I had dug myself an emotional hole when it came to my feelings; my emotions and had learnt to hide behind a mask as inflexible and unyielding as the one my housemate wore on his face.

There were days when I hated myself for not being able to show my true feelings and admit that I loved him and needed him. But I was scared to commit myself again and whilst I depended on him for so much; but not confessing that I also needed him emotionally I felt that I could at least keep a modicum of freedom and the ability to walk away. Walk away – the thought sent shivers down my spine. I no longer believed in everlasting love. My parents had split up; my relationship had faltered and failed in a disastrous way. Love was for fools or people with a deep belief. I had already made a fool of myself and so therefore could no longer have a deep belief in it's powers.

And yet I so desperately wanted to be with Eric. That kiss; a few weeks ago was so wonderful and yet so awful. He kissed beautifully – obviously a man with enough experience to know what a woman needed and yet enough tact to make her feel as if she was the only one he ever wanted. We kissed thoroughly and lazily before withdrawing and stood looking at each other in silence.

He broke the spell that we were under and lifting his hand rubbed his knuckles across my cheek. Not wanting to break contact I lifted my hand and held it against his, feeling the softness of his palm; the scratch of the edge of his bandages. Our breathing matched and as I gazed into his eyes I knew; knew that I could not fulfil his dream or mine.

"No," I pulled away from his touch dropping my palm; trying to ignore his bewildered expression. "I don't want to do something that we regret in the morning."

"I won't regret it; I promise."

"You will and I know I will as well." I gave a sad smile. "Eric, I can't do this. I've always told you that. You are wonderful and you don't deserve a basket case like me."

"Maybe I want a basket case like you." He kept his tone light but I could hear the hope in his voice.

"No, Eric no." I stepped back up to him and rising on to my toes placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "You are my best friend and I never want to loose you. Please let's keep it that way."

He nodded in agreement, but I could see the restrain that it took for him to do that. His lips were set in a grim line and his eyes held a look of bewilderment that broke my heart. I offered a watery smile before I turned on my heel and fled. I spent that night silently weeping into my pillow; feeling like an utter bitch.

It could have been so awkward after that, but Eric obviously took my words to heart. Apart from the fact that I did not see him the next morning he did not change the way he behaved towards me at all.

And so, we continued to stumble along; never admitting our feelings; never truly crossing the barriers and yet desperately wanting to be together. Oh, I loved him and yet was so bloody afraid.

My phone vibrating on my dressing table pulled me away from my thoughts and back into reality. The tune was annoyingly upbeat for I refused to have anything remotely ballet or classical. I caught it neatly as it found it's way to the edge of the table and plunged to the floor.

"Hello."

"Ali have you made a move for home yet?" Eric's voice echoed over the line.

"No, just finished. Where are you, thought you down at your parents today? Is Tess okay?"

"She's fine, absolutely fine, but it is such a lovely evening I thought I would stay down and we can have a barbecue. Come down and join us. I know there is a train leaving Victoria at half five – it's the one Dad gets. You can be here for six thirty and if you meet him he'll give you a lift home, he apparently took the car." I could hear the persuasion running through his voice and smiled at his excitement.

"Okay, sounds rather nice. It is so hot up here." I fanned myself exaggeratedly with my free hand. "Do you need anything for Tess?"

"Nope, I think I packed it all and Mum has spares of everything anyway. Great, well give me a call if you can't hook up with Dad and I'll come and pick you up from the station. See you."

"Bye." And with that he disconnected the call leaving me mouthing the words I wouldn't say to him. Love you.

It was a glorious idea to leave the sweaty city. Thankfully there was only another two weeks and then we broke for our annual holiday; letting the opera and touring companies take over the theatre and then I was free. My plans were unsubstantiated at the moment; possibly included throwing myself on the hospitality of Eric's parents.

The train finally pulled into the station and the commuters and tourists staggered off with a weary joy, obviously glad to be at home. I scanned the hordes of business-suited men as I was carried down the platform in a wave, not able to see Edward.

Suddenly I felt a hand at my elbow and he stood there, his eyes crinkling up with the smile that graced his face.

"Ali," he said with obvious pleasure. "Ric called me and said that you would be on the train. He has apparently demanded a barbecue for the evening. Sounds like a glorious idea if you ask me."

"Hello Edward," I kissed his cheek. "How did you tell it was me?"

"Oh you walk like a duck dear," he teased, "it was easy to spot you." I laughed at his rude but accurate statement. A lifetime of perfecting you turnout caused most dancers to walk in the same way they danced; their feet clearly pointing to the sides.

It was only a short journey home and by the time we arrived we could see a lazy curl of smoke drifting up from the back garden. As we got out the car I could smell the inviting aroma of charcoal and woodsmoke. Wandering into the back garden a bark of laughter escaped at the sight of Eric dancing around the fire, poking it with tongs and stepping back every so often as the heat blasted out.

"I hope you aren't going to cook with the fire so high," I commented approaching him as he turned.

"Depends if you like your food charred or not. Isn't charcoal meant to be good for you?"

"I don't think quite like that. Where's Tess?" I smiled unconsciously as he flapped a hand in front of his face as if it would cool him down. A pointless gesture as most of his face was behind plastic.

"Mum's giving her a bath. God it's hot and that fire isn't helping. " He fanned himself again. "Oh for some air," he quoted laconically before turning back to tending the fire, leaving me to search for my daughter.

That was how our conversation was nowadays. Brief, friendly and fun, but without even hinting at the repressed romance and emotion that hovered in the air between us, so intense it was almost palpable.

I wandered into the cool airy house, so welcoming and friendly and went upstairs to the bathroom, hovering in the doorway as I watched Helena lean over the bath singing to my daughter as she sat in the shallow bubbly water laughing. Pain stabbed through me; for the tender scene should have been a grandmother and grandchild. Instead this stranger loved my daughter as much as I loved her son.

"Ali," Helena looked and saw me, "how lovely to see you my dear, I am so glad you decided to come down. Tess has just got in. Do you want to take over and I will finish preparing supper? The travel cot is set up in the spare room and I'll bring her milk up in a few minutes."

As always I did, as I was bid and fifteen minutes later had Tess sitting on my lap in a lovely old rocking chair, the setting sun streaming through the window and highlighting us in a sunbeam. I gently rocked the chair as I hummed away to her. She smelt of baby bath, sunshine and washing power and I buried my nose in her little golden locks, falling in love with her all over again as she cuddled into my chest.

A soft knock on the open door drew my attention away from my daughter and towards Eric standing in the doorway. "I was loathe to disturb you two, you look so peaceful." The smile I gave him in reply said it all. This was always a beautiful moment of my day and it always hurt to miss it when I had a performance on. "Milk," he walked forward brandishing the bottle and Tess looked up from her cuddle to briefly bestow a gummy smile with her solo tooth poking through the bottom gum.

"I'll be down in about fifteen minutes," I said softly, although it was a pointless comment, Eric knew my daughter's routine as well if not better then I did.

"Okay, I'll tell Dad to get cooking, the fire is ready, although I think this stupid mask has actually melted into my face. He bent over Tess and laid a kiss on her curls. "Night-night sweetheart, may angels take you to your dreams."

It was his classic goodnight to her and yet whenever I heard it, my heart literally leapt into my mouth. Perhaps it was the greeting, maybe the annoyance at the rehearsal that afternoon, possibly the magic of the moment – but I could not take my eyes off him as he left the room. For the briefest time I was willing to break my self-imposed vow and throw myself into his waiting arms.

I gave my daughter her bottle, settled her in the travel cot and slipped out the room, intending to go downstairs and join the family. Instead I was distracted as I walked past the bathroom. Out the corner of my eye I glimpsed Eric standing over looking in the mirror over the basin.

I stopped and went and stood in the doorway, fully intending to chat with him, but found the words freezing in my mouth as I took in his appearance.

He had his mask off; the first time I have ever seem him like that and from my point of view I could see a beautifully sculptured face. Without the pressure of the covering the strong jaw line and high cheekbones were clear, the dark hair pushed behind his ears as he lightly rubbed a cream into his skin.

"Are you just going to stand there and prop up the doorway?" There was an acidic note to his voice; one that I had learnt meant his emotions were on the rise.

"Yes, thought it looked as if it were about to fall down actually," I replied mildly. "You nearly finished? It smells as if you father is cooking." Indeed the aroma of roasting meat was wafting through the open window.

"Yes." At that moment he turned so he faced me and I tried not to let my jaw fall open at the sight. The right hand side of his face was a mottled mass of scar tissue creeping down the side of his cheek and over the top of his eyebrow, licking around the edge of his nose. It was red and patchy as it faded into his normal skin.

Seeing is believing and whilst I had looked at photos of him before his accident, for the first time I could truly acknowledge exactly how fantastic he must have looked before his accident. Beauty and the beast in one face. He must have seen the change in my face, for his jaw tightened as he observed me and an eyebrow and rose in a sardonic arch.

"How did your appointment go?" I didn't give him a chance to show his displeasure or annoyance at my reaction. I knew that he was surprised at seeing me standing in the doorway, but then he should have closed the door.

"Okay," he shrugged his shoulder in a typical male reaction, a reply he knew was bound to infuriate.. A smile crept on to his dour face as he saw me bristle and I had to resist the immature urge to cross the distance separating us and give him a good punch.

"And?"

"Do you really want to see?" The smile widened slightly and reached his eyes, changing the mulish expression to one of cautious delight. It had obviously been good news to account for his mood and I nodded my head with enthusiasm.

Encouraged by my reaction his pulled up the grey t-shirt he was wearing and bared his chest. I narrowed my eyes and looked at it, wondering at first what was exactly meant to be on show. It took a good few seconds for the penny to drop that he was showing me what he wasn't wearing more then what he was. The tight strapping that had covered some of his chest had been removed. It had never been as bad as his face but now there was just soft white skin that merged into his own flesh.

There was a definite line where new and old dermatitis met, but otherwise it didn't seem to be at all bad and I left my post at the door to get a closer look. With an interested eye I bent over and examined carefully, looking in detail at the new skin until I heard a long suffering sigh from above me. Raising my head I saw that Eric was still standing holding his t-shirt up.

"Sorry," I watched as he let go, the fabric settling down his torso and I found myself wondering if it felt strange after so many months of having garments underneath it.

"It does tickle slightly."

"What?"

"My t-shirt, it feels slightly weird, very soft and it tickles." He looked at my expression of confusion. "You spoke out loud."

"Oh," I hid my embarrassment with a slight laugh and threw my arms around his neck, aiming my lips for a peck on his bare unscarred cheek, wanting to feel his flesh under my hands. "Congratulations Eric, it's great."

He turned his cheek and my lips grazed across his. We both felt the electricity shock in the touch, only this time I didn't pull away but hesitantly went in for more.

I suppose it was the shock of seeing him without the mask; the memory of my frustrating rehearsal and boorish ex-boyfriend that made me feel it didn't matter, that I could release my guard briefly. We stood there; our arms locked around each other slowly kissing, light pecks on each other's lips, which slid into longer deeper kisses, our mouths opening and tongues invading.

Involuntarily my hand moved to his waist, sliding under his t-shirt so that I could feel the skin, warm and smooth beneath my hand. In retaliation his fingers moved to the neckline of my top and slowly almost frustratingly slowly slipped beneath it's gauzy guard and rested lightly on my bra. At the same time the rhythm of his kissing change; an urgency marking its movement in my mouth. It simply turned me on even more.

The slight pressure against my legs made me realise he was leaning against them, subtly telling me that we should move out the bathroom and I complied. We danced a joined up tango to his old bedroom; neither of us ready to relinquish our hold on each other, before falling on his bed and resuming the ferocious pace of our kissing.

His hand fumbled at my back and I felt the ping of my bra strap release and his hand cover my breast. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realised that not only was he not wearing his glove but also the bandage on his arm had been removed. It would seem that the pressure garments that covered most of his body had been vastly reduced.

My hand traced the contours of his stomach and chest and I was secretly aghast at how sunken and thin it seemed. I could feel the press of ribs against his skin, moving down into his hips. The promise of the muscle that I was so used to in the men I associated with was there, but sadly unexercised and wasted. Maybe I should encourage him to exercise more.

At the moment there seemed to be only one muscle that he wanted to exercise and it was making it's presence known as an unsightly bulge in his jeans. I ran my hands up his sides, lightly tickling his skin, smiling as he squirmed at my touch. Our lips parted and he bought his mouth along my jaw his teeth scraping lightly across my skin; working their way up to my earlobe and grabbing it.

The noise that left my mouth was half laugh; half gasp as he let go of my ear and once again claimed my mouth in a hard and somewhat brutal kiss. It aroused me intensely and I gave back all the emotion, frustration and passion that he poured into me.

We were just on the point of loosing any pretence of control when the call floated from the garden. "Eric, Ali; the food is ready." Helena's voice echoed shrilly up through the window and we both froze at the noise like guilty teenagers making out away from parental eyes.

"Bugger, shit, bugger, bugger, bugger." The litany of curses flooded out of Eric's mouth, but I just lay next to him, my arms crossed over my chest holding my bra in place. I waited for the crushing guilt of reality to come and bear down on me with all its weight; remind me that what I was doing was wrong.

A few cautious moments later it still hadn't arrived and I lightly brushed my hand across my chest, impatiently waiting for the feeling. Instead; the slight movement caused my aroused body to react and a wave of repressed orgasm flooded over me in an instant. Suddenly I felt as if I had received an electric shock, my teeth, hair and hands all felt on end. A fuzzy feeling crept through my body and colours danced in front of my eyes; leaving me silently gasping by Eric's side.

I floated down to earth and looked at the man next to me sheepishly. "Having fun without me?" The tone was gruff and sounded annoyed, but I guessed that was more at the setting then my reaction. I was still unable to do much more then smile dopily at him.

When I failed to reply he sighed and pushed his hair out of his face; retrieving the hair band that I had tugged out and tied it back again. "I'd better," he trailed off with a jerk of his head towards the bathroom, indicating that he had better put his mask back on; encase his features once again.

"Eric," I found my voice and sat up, reached up and pulled his face down towards mine. I guided his lips to mine and kissed them again, tugging his bottom lip away with my teeth before letting go.

"Go downstairs or Mum will come up looking and I don't want to be caught making out in my bedroom. She can still make me feel as if I am thirteen years old! I'll be down in five." He dropped a kiss on my forehead and pushed me off the bed.

I took a deep breath, straightened my top and prepared to look like a mother who was putting her daughter to bed and not a wanton woman ready to have sex with a man in his childhood bedroom. It would take most of my acting skills.

Despite the frustration and interruptions, it was a lovely evening. We sat around the large outside table; the sound of bird song and the scent of dozens of roses in the garden scenting the air. The sun seemed reluctant to set and even at ten o'clock there were still remnants of light streaking the horizon.

Eric and I finally made our excuses, partially reluctant to leave the welcome and comfort of his family home; partly desperate to get back to the flat and finish what had been started upstairs.

He carried out my sleeping daughter downstairs, a ragdoll asleep in his arms with that curious bonelessness that sleeping children posses. He gently installed her in the back of the huge Range Rover that he drove and we made our way home up the darkening motorways and into central London.

We got home quickly; the lateness of the hour easing the traffic and installed Tess in her cot. Eric joined me and we stood there for a moment watching her curled up; asleep on her stomach; her little face pressed into her teddy bear. "I sometimes think I could stand here and watch her forever," I murmured, not wanting to wake her.

"I know what you mean," he replied, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his side. We stood there; locked in an embrace before he softly kissed my forehead. "Come to bed with me."


	15. Chapter 14

** Once again many apologies for how long you had to wait for this chapter and thank you so much for your kind reviews to date. This isn't the place for an Oscar style speech so I will just say please read enjoy and review. Thanks Pips**

Chapter Fourteen

I hesitated a modicum too long. What had seemed like such a wonderful and positive opportunity after the tormenting and annoying rehearsals now needed consideration. I was Pandora and her box; temptation luring me all the time.

Eric noted the moments that I paused as I frantically weighed up the options and I felt him harden, withdraw from my side and construct a barrier of disregard. "Don't be a cock tease Christine," he spat my name out and it took me a second to realise that he had used my real name; my formal stage name. "It doesn't suit you." Pivoting on his heel he marched out the room, leaving me there, staring at my sleeping daughter in the cot, wondering where I had gone wrong as the tears started to flow unbidden and unchecked down my cheeks.

With a sniff I backhanded them out of the way. I couldn't blame Eric for this predicament, he was right, annoyingly so. Too many times I had led him on and then turn a cold unfeeling back on him and in the light of our frantic coupling earlier in the evening, I needed to close the situation in whatever way I could.

He was at the piano, his foot held down on the una corda, softening the notes that he was playing, although I was unsure if this was for the piece of music or out of consideration for my sleeping daughter. I approached; knowing that my footsteps were silent and stood to his side, listening to the music.

I was unable to identify the composer, yet my feet itched to dance to the melodic and flowing notes; the steps etching themselves out in my head and without meaning to I found my foot softly taping out the beat. It was enough to cause Eric to stop and look at me.

"I didn't mean it that way," I opened, launching straight into conversation. If he was as infuriated as I imagined there was no point making small talk.

"Then how did you mean it?" His tone of voice was cool and collected, bordering on disinterest. I felt like a student in front of my ballet teacher, trying to explain why I was tardy for class. It was too late for any excuses.

"I know that if I say yes there will be no going back Eric. I've learnt the hard way that you can't undo time, however much you wish you could. I, I..." my words trailed off under his inscrutable stare. "I just want to be totally sure and absolutely free to, um, be, um." Damn it, why could I not form a complete sentence. This never happened in the movies, in the romantic books that I read. There the heroines never had problems articulating how they felt.

Eric simply let out a long suffering sigh and turned his attention back to the keys, continuing to play. His jaw was set and his fingers pounded out the notes, even if they were dampened. Shit I needed to say something quickly before the moment was entirely lost.

"Look, I'm sorry about this afternoon. I didn't quite mean it to happen that way. Well I did, but I didn't." Contradictions abounded in my speech, for I was far to het up to rationally voice what I was thinking. "I have always been upfront with you about how I feel and why I hesitate and you know that." He continued to ignore me and I found my temper rising. "At least fucking look at me when I'm talking to you!" I practically screamed the last words, forgetting about my sleeping daughter upstairs, forgetting about the promises I had made to myself to keep my distance. I was truly riled.

He turned his lips in a smirk as he observed me red faced and tousled hair, eyes narrowed in his direction. My annoyance vibrated in the air around me. Now I was seriously pissed off and his sarcastic smile simply riled me even more.

"Right, forget it. I knew this was a mistake all along. I should never have agreed to moving in with you, should never have let you wiggle into my life as you had." In my anger I chose to ignore the blinding truth that he had done much more for me that I had for him. "Let's just call it a day shall we as we will never be able to live together happily. One of us will always want more. Consider this my notice; I will start looking for somewhere new to live tomorrow!"

I threw my hands in the air, as I saw how he was frozen to the piano stool, a look of bewilderment on his face, before I turned and sprinted up the stairs two at a time. It was stupid, but then it was only another move in the long line of foolish things that I had done that day. As my foot landed on the top step it twisted over painfully.

"Ow, shit, shit, shit, fuck," I swore as the stab of pain shot through my ankle. Trying to keep the weight off it as I hobbled into my bedroom and fell on the bed, burying my head in the pillow and clenching my teeth against the pain. It would be just my luck that the night I chose to end the best situation I had ever been in, I would sustain an injury that would finally end my dancing career and leave me not only homeless, but also destitute.

Without warning coldness descended on my ankle causing me to wince and I looked up just enough to see Eric holding a packet of frozen vegetables wrapped in a tea towel against my painful joint. Not knowing what to do or say I simply flopped my head back into the feathers and lay there, feeling the warm throbbing ease with the coolness. I would live to dance another day.

"You didn't mean it did you Ali?" he said quietly, sadly. I rolled over onto my side. There was a certain disadvantage to having your head buried in a pillow when you were trying to hold a conversation with someone.

"Maybe, partially," I admitted, feeling like an a-class bitch. "I just think that we cannot go on like this and I know that I cannot give you what you want."

"You mean now that you are becoming a famous superstar you no longer need me?" I gasped in shock before realising there was a teasing lilt to his words.

"I am being serious Eric. I am truly sorry for what I did at your parents, I didn't mean to, just got carried away in the heat of the moment. The trouble is there are going to be so many moments and they may get worse then that. How would you feel if you woke up one morning with me next to you in bed?"

"Honoured."

"Oh stop teasing!" My tone was petulant. I was not in the mood for his trick of bantering his way out of a difficult conversation. "Eric, I have maintained from almost as soon as I met you that I do not want anything more from you then friendship and can give nothing more in return." _Lies, lies; lies_ – the words pounded in my head in time with my heart. "I do not want to ruin what we have by a night of what would just at the end of the day be sex!"

"You're serious aren't you?" Shock momentarily froze his face before it dropped into a hangdog expression. "I thought I was a good judge of women as well. Seems that I've lost that skill."

"You are a good judge of women, I'm sure Eric. But what I don't want you to do is place your emotions on me because I am readily available. Nothing but heartache in that direction for both of us."

"So you are determined to move out then?" I gave a one-shouldered shrug in reply. "I think it would be for the best Eric. I am earning a decent salary finally and can afford to hire a nanny for Tess. It would give you back your free time as well. You can compose again – write that composition, hey write me a ballet. What?" I paused in my speech as I saw a funny look cross his face, a combination of a smile and a frown.

He simply shook his head in the negative. "Can we still see each other, can I still see Tess?" There was such an air of sadness that I was desperate to throw my arms around him, draw him to my side and kiss it all away. But then I was the one causing him the pain, even if it was for his own good.

"Of course you can still see Tess. Just tell me whenever and you can take her out whenever you want. Eric, please this isn't the end, just a sabbatical, that's the best way to see it.

He nodded and swallowed hard. "Yes, right. Well, I think your foot will be okay." He removed the defrosting bag of peas that had been sitting in a damp cloth on my ankle all this time. "I had better let you go. Goodnight Ali." And with those words he got up and walked out the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," I muttered the playground chant to myself as I lay there, knowing the pain I was causing the man next door. The only way I could reassure myself that it was for the best; is that my heart hurt twice as much.

I was true to my word and the next day starting to look for a flat. My increase in salary now that I was a principle meant that I was able to afford a small maisonette in south-west London with the tiniest second bedroom that was just about big enough for Teresa's cot.

I used our summer break to do it up and move in, sort through the chaos of relocating to a new area and find a nursery and nanny for Teresa. It kept me very busy so that I did not have the chance to rest as I had hoped. Eric had helped slightly, mainly moving my meagre possessions from his flat to my new house.

The journey across town took over an hour, leaving little doubt that he would not be popping over most evenings. When he had finally moved the last of my boxes and bags from his car into my living room, he paused, his tall lanky frame taking up the tiny space.

"Well, I guess that's everything," he gestured to the chaos around him. "I had better let you get sorted." He scooped Tess off the floor, where she was sitting and cuddled her close, repeatedly kissing her blonde curls. She laughed in reply, patting his masked face with her hands.

"Da, da, da," the garbled words came out with a giggle, causing Eric and I to freeze. _Oh god, why would she have to come out with those words at that particular moment?_ I watched as Eric hugged my daughter even closer, a couple of tears leaking out of his eyes as he placed another kiss to her tangled locks. He handed her back to me and pressed a kiss to my forehead before turning and fleeing our little house without another word.

The misery and the loneliness of those first couple of weeks were almost more then I could bear and it took immense self control to prevent me from picking up the phone and calling Eric, admitting I had made a terrible mistake and begging that we could return to his welcoming arms.

But I had learnt to live with pain. Firstly the physical pain of dancing, the agony of blistered feet; bleeding toes and twisted muscles. Secondly the heart wrenching despair of abandonment. My mother, my father and then the man I thought I loved. I was used to picking up the pieces, straightening my spine and getting on with life.

If I thought my days had been hard before, now they were almost impossible. Waking with my very active daughter at six and chasing her around the house until it was time to bundle her into her pram and drop her off at the local nursery I had found.

Taking classes and rehearsals all day and sometimes performing late into the evening meant that at times I barely had six hours sleep a night. Not only did I miss the companionship that Eric offered, but I also began to realise the immense contribution he made to helping me raise my daughter.

Instead I was at the mercy of a day nursery and the slightly surly help of a variety of supposed nannies, all who did not seem old enough or experienced enough to be charged with looking after my daughter. Still, I remained silent, paid the agency that provided them through the nose and continued to smile through the pain.

However it would seem that the difficulties in my life did not reflect in my dancing. Plaudits were heaped on James and I after our opening night of Romeo and Juliet and secretly I could not help but wallow in the praise. After all this is what I had been dancing for every day of my life for as long as I could remember.

The next day, I sat in my small dressing room after class, reading the reviews that the publicity department had kindly photocopied for me as a memento of the triumph of the night before. Four curtain calls had been demanded from the audience and the newspapers echoed their enthusiastic praise.

A light knock sounded against my partially open door and it swung open before I could utter a word of welcome. James strolled into my dressing room, dressed like me in his practice clothes; his muscles pumped from the past hour and a half of exercise.

"Good reviews aren't they," he said perching against my dressing table and gazing down at me. As I was seated he had the advantage over me and so I simply flashed him a brief smile. After our accomplishments last night I could not find the energy or reason to be sour with him.

For those few hours on stage he was once again my lover, tender gentle and caring and I basked in his attention and kindness – which obviously transmitted itself into the dancing, hence the glowing reviews. "They are very complimentary about you," he continued, grabbing the paper from my hand. I like this bit in particular. '_MacMillan's Juliet might have been made on Christine de Theale, whose delicacy, vulnerability, sensitivity and lightness make her an exquisite exponent of the role. It takes great acting talent to bring out the rich palette of emotions in MacMillan's subtle choreographing of the part, which is wonderfully restrained and contained'_ blah blah blah."

I smiled at his summary whilst blushing; it was a very kind review. "They spoke of you well too," I credited him.

"They spoke of us well Al," he corrected, using his old nickname for me. "This is us, this is what we hoped and dreamed for. I mean look here, '_what is so impressive is the way in which the steps become an expression of their emotional states. Lexington throws off tours en l'air as if they were the only way to communicate his happiness. De Theale makes standing on pointe an action of delight._' That's the Telegraph and then in the FT whathisface says, '' _he plays with entire naturalness, dances with stunning power, and as the evening progresses, starts to inhabit his role with a clear sense of Romeo's nature: the great bedroom duet in Act 3 was superbly done by him and the passionately involved De Theale, whose sensual awakening seemed marvellously to engulf them both_.' Don't you realize, we've made it, we have arrived!

I swallowed a laugh at his drama; it had always been his way on and off the stage. "Yes totally," I agreed as politely as I could. "Look James, I would love to stay here and talk all day, but I really need to get going, sorry."

"Oh," his naturally puppy dog good looks sunk. "What do you have to do?" I gave a sigh.

"Teresa!" I tried to keep as much sarcasm as possible out of my voice. James seemed almost blissfully unaware of her presence. He seemed to have limited his role to a purely creational one only.

"Right, okay." He stood up and paused facing the door, "Do you think I could come and meet her?" It was his little boy lost voice.

"She's you're daughter, you have every right to meet her." I tried to keep my tone level, friendly even. It took my nails digging into my palms to achieve it. "Why don't you go and get changed and I'll meet you out front in fifteen minutes? I have to get back by 12:30 as she is only in nursery for half a day."

He frowned briefly obviously confused by the complexity of the childcare arrangements, it didn't surprise me. Instead I gave him a friendly push on his bottom. "Go and if you are not there when I am, I will leave without you!"

"Okay, okay." He grumbled leaving the dressing room with a shout of welcome to another dancer. I sighed and shook my head my head again, not sure if I should be amused or annoyed.

Surprisingly he was out in front, sitting on the steps, basking in the sunshine like an oversized cat. There was a certain feline grace to him and I enjoyed a few moments of unobserved watching.

James had always been good looking with his thick dark hair curling slightly around his head and deep blue eyes. His muscles were long and hardened, making him quite tall for a dancer and his mouth had a certain degree of pout to it, he claimed from his Gallic ancestry.

I felt a familiar tug as I saw him roll his shoulders with indolent ease, a tug that changed to a stab as it was joined by a flirting smile; aimed at two young, long-legged girls walking by. Some things never changed.

Ready?" I marched up to him, my voice rougher then I meant it to be. Even though I had no claim on him, nor did I wish to, it still irked me to see him behaving in his usual bimbo way.

"Err, yeah, sure." He gracefully hopped to his feet, linking his arm with mine, ignoring my grimace. "Lead on McDuff." This time I didn't bother to hide my groan as I hastened my stride towards the bus stop.

Of course Tess took one look at the strange man standing by her buggy and immediately buried her face into my shoulder, clutching her chubby little arms around my neck in a death grip. She was rather wary of men in the first place and except for Eric and his father, did not have much contact with them. Therefore to have this man stick his manically grinning face inches from her own, was enough to make her burst into big noisy sobs.

"What did I do?" James drew back in alarm, his face an amusing expression of panic.

"Just be yourself, you can't expect her to fall into your arms. You have to earn a child's trust, it is not easily given.

"Okay, I think I can do that. What, you think she'll like me by the end of the day?" I shrugged. How was to know how long it would take for Tess to trust her birth father. I didn't trust him!

Five hours later we were not much further. Tess sat as far away from the sofa where James was sprawled as was possible. She regarded him with a wary look as she sat there, chewing on her teethers and occasionally bating the toys on her swinging arch. With a negligent air she rolled over on to her front and gazed up at him, a little frown gathering between her eyebrows as if she could not quite understand why this man was bothering to stay.

Time dragged on and despite all my hints James refused to leave. He sat at the table and watched as I gave Tess her supper, sniggering slightly in an immature fashion as he watched her spit out most of what when in her mouth. I just ground my teeth together and tried not to say anything.

I was at the point of despair and just about to demand that he leave when we interrupted by a knock on the door. Lifting Tess on to my hip I wandered over and opened it, only to be greeted by a huge bunch of flowers. My frown of confusion was brief for they were moved aside and I saw the masked visage of Eric, brandishing them.

"Congratulations Ali," he said bending down and kissing my cheek, his broad smile fading slightly as I didn't step back to let him in.

"Just to warn you, I have company," I said in a low whisper, fixing him with an intent stare.

"Oh, is this a bad time, do you want me to come back…" He half turned in the door as if he was considering leaving.

"No, no," I grabbed his shirt to prevent him, as Tess leant out her arms, unaware of the hard concrete in the space between us.

"Da, da, da," she chanted, her unusually solemn face once again breaking into her dimpled smile. Eric grabbed her with a well practiced arm as I took the flowers from him, both of us doing an awkward little dance as we juggled what we held. We turned and saw that James was still sitting at the table watching our antics.

"Al?" he questioned, taking Eric in with an unfriendly gaze, his eyes obviously travelling from his masked face down his body, taking in his bandages under his short sleeved t-shirt.

"Oh sorry James, Eric St. John of Gin Sounds and my ex flatmate. Eric, this is James Lexington my _dance_ partner." I stressed the words, trying to get through James' lead lined skull that there was no more to our relationship.

"Alright," James nodded tersely at Eric, no doubt riled by the way in which he comfortably held Tess. She sat on his hip, one arm curled across his back and her thumb in her mouth, leaning her head against his chest.

Eric's lips twitched slightly as he looked me, although I couldn't tell if it was in amusement or not. He nodded to the huge bouquet I held in my arms. "I'd put those in some water if I were you," was his only comment.

"Oh yes, of course." My eyes fell to the complex and beautiful arrangement of roses, lilies, hypericum, tulips and bear grass all skilfully bound together with raffia, the sight lighting up my face. He knew how much I loved flowers and until now, I had rarely received them. Such gifts were not given to the corps.

I strained my ears for sounds of arguing and fighting as I searched through the near empty cupboards for anything I could put the flowers in to, settling for a water jug in the end, and carried them back; placing them in the middle of the table as a barrier to the two men potentially hitting each other.

The look of dislike, bordering on hatred on James' face was clear, where as Eric's visage remained bland, even his lips, which a tendency to tighten and narrow in fury remained relaxed. It probably helped his ego that Tess clung to him like a monkey.

"Shall I give her a bath?" he questioned me, ignoring the other man in the room when I remerged from behind the blooms.

"Hmm? Yeah, that would be great, thanks Eric." I gratefully flashed him a smile. If he had his hands full with my daughter I could be busy getting rid of her father.

"Why didn't you ask me to do that?" James grumbled sulkily from his seated position, arms crossed against his chest, having waited until Eric was out of the room.

"Because you didn't offer and because you don't know how," I muttered throwing my hands up in the air. _God give me strength_. "Look James, I think it is time you went home, you've been here all afternoon and we have rehearsals most of tomorrow, go and get some sleep or something."

I pushed him unsubtly, forcing him to rise from the chair. "You just want me out the way so you can have sex with that weirdo boyfriend of yours," he sneered in a juvenile manner, causing me to huff in exasperation. I could feel the beginnings of a pressure headache building just dealing with his mulish and insulting behaviour.

"Just get out!" I pointed towards the door. "Out, now," I repeated as I watched him open his mouth to argue, my voice louder then I realised for just as James made a reluctant move towards the front door Eric emerged at the doorway into the small hall that separated the living and sleeping areas, drying his hands on a towel. He said nothing but stood there observing my ex-boyfriend walk away from me, playing to an audience with woe laden steps, his face a picture of rejected sorrow.

"Sleep well both of you," he said sarcastically as he opened the front door and slammed it shut behind him, leaving the pictures to sway on the walls and the noise vibrate through the paper thin walls."

"Rather over-dramatic isn't he?" Eric commented, as he watched the final act of the evening leave my flat.

"Horrendously. He cannot separate reality from being on stage. And to think I use to find it amusing!" Tess ready for the bath?"

"Mmm, but I wanted you to see something first," he commented with a slight smile, raising a large warm hand up to my shoulder and massaging the tightness with his fingers, before steering me to her tiny bedroom.

My daughter was on her change mat on the bedroom floor, stripped to her nappy, resolutely focusing on the teddy bear that sat two feet away. In front of my astounded and happy gaze, she gingerly reached up with one hand and grasped the bar of her cot, before placing the other on the bar next to it and pulling herself up to standing. She looked over at us, her gummy smile with the three little teeth protruding out of it.

I was torn, as so often, between a belly of laughter and cheering and a tearing ache as I realised that each achievement she made carried her one step further away from being my little baby.

"Bravo darling," I applauded her as she stood, legs bowed, her hands going white from the pressure of holding on. Obviously enjoying the limelight as much as her mother she released her death grip and moved out into the main arena of her bedroom, promptly falling over as she had not achieved the balance and stability necessary for such a feat. Her face held a look of pure shock before she screwed it and burst into tears.

With a shout of laughter, Eric scooped her up into his arms and hugged her close, where the tears soon ceased as she cuddled against his chest, squealing in delight as he buried his masked face into her stomach. I clung on to both of them, realising that I had missed these moments the past few weeks we had been by ourselves. Our fledgling family had been broken apart by my stubbornness.

When we finally got her to bed, I slipped out of her room and into the living room. Eric was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in his hand. He had happily made himself comfortable in my little house and sat there, a vague smile on his face as he looked at me standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I finally said, trying to find words that would apologise without being too encouraging.

"Don't be," he shrugged. "It was very refreshing to meet the…" He trailed off and looked at me.

"Don't say competition. That's too clichéd, too predictable. Besides he's not."

"Not what?"

"Not the competition, not that there is any competition. However he was rude and as usual fantastically immature. Unfortunately being Tess' biological father he has a right to see her."

"Hmm, can see the problem. Would you like a glass of wine?" He gave a slight yawn.

"Yeah okay, why not?" I wasn't dancing for another few days and suddenly felt like collapsing with a glass. He had read my thoughts and with a flourish picked up an empty glass and poured me some wine, beckoning for me to come and join him on the couch.

Alarm bells rang in my ears as I accepted the wine from his hand, my fingers momentarily brushing the soft repaired skin. As I looked into his eyes, I chose to ignore their demanding toll and curled up next to him on the couch. It therefore seemed natural for him to wrap his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in closer to him, so that my head was resting on his shoulder.

I fitted comfortably into his side, cuddled up, safe warm and loved. Oh so loved. He had never actually spoken the words directly to me, but it was there in all his thoughts and actions and when I allowed myself to live the fantasy, it was sheer heaven.

I had never known love and companionship as he offered. It had been sadly absent in my family. My father too wrapped up in his own selfish ways to see beyond the basic physical needs of his family. Too many times I had returned home from school during the holidays to find my only company the housekeeper.

Even my mother had not seen me for years and communicated mainly by stilted letter and the occasional birthday and Christmas card. She had flown over to watch my first true performance as a member of the corps, but our time together left us both fractious and uneasy. We did not know how to be mother and daughter anymore.

In the dysfunctional world I had grown up, my brother had fallen between the cracks as well. I found my family in the dressing room and practice classes. The people that applauded and congratulated me were the audience and it was my teachers that cheered me on, otherwise I had always looked out for myself.

Therefore I found his overwhelming passion, however silent quite alien. Rather like an elephant sitting in my living room, it was just as strange to me and it was easier to tiptoe around it and pretend it wasn't there then try and accept it.

The only trouble was that Tess changed the whole equation. If it had just been me, well I would never have been in that darn coffee shop in the first place, but even then I could have probably resisted Eric's charm. But my daughter changed everything. The one person I would happily do anything for, from pulling silly faces to lying down in front of a bus to save her, I would do it. She was my centre and my gravity and to know that there was someone else in the world who felt the same way about her was a powerful emotion.

And here I was cuddled into his side, wondering what to do next.

"You reviews were glowing," he said quietly, lightly tracing the fingertips of his free hand up my arm.

"You shouldn't read them in front of an iridescent light then," I quipped, causing him to snort with laughter.

"That's bad Ali," he shook his head and reached to the floor for his abandoned glass, holding it up to the light and looking at the deep claret swirling around the crystal. "You didn't mind me coming over tonight?"

"Should I mind?"

"I don't know, I just wasn't sure if you wanted to see me; that's all. You've been rather quiet the past few weeks."

"I've been rather busy the past few weeks. If I thought I worked hard before, I never had to fill a principle role. It's exhausting! Exhilarating, but exhausting."

"Hmm," was the only noise to escape his mouth, obviously realising that I was evading the true question, as was my norm. He took a sip of wine again. "And now we have a decision to make."

I leant away from his embrace, my face a picture of confusion, unsure what he meant exactly, what options he was talking about. He turned and looked at me and once more I was annoyed at how well the mask hid his features, pushed them into neutrality. "What do you mean?" I was unsure if there were to be more declarations of love. In my current mood I actually felt like accepting him.

"Well, we can finish this bottle of wine together, possibly open another, get quite tipsy, go to bed and make love like we never made love before. Or," he paused and took another sip, savouring the moment of making me wait. "I could finish this glass of wine and leave you with your virtue untouched by me."

"It isn't a difficult option the way you present it," I answered levelly, not wanting to give him any sort of ammunition, or show him I was thawing in the possibility of letting him into my bed.

"It doesn't matter either way, I will be gone tomorrow and you will be rid of me again." He said it quite casually, settling back into the cushions as he did so, so that it took a moment for the impact of what he said.

"Going? Going where?"

"Away." He shrugged. "To somewhere remote so I can be alone to compose, to find myself to heal and recover. You've made it quite clear to me Ali that you want nothing more then friendship and so whilst I will always be your friend; I also need to do something for me."

"What, what do you mean? When will you be back?" I was trembling at the thought of loosing him out of my life. It was horrendous the idea that he would no longer be there for Tess; for me. "When are you going? Why?" He sighed indulgently at my confusion.

"Away. Scotland, the Bahamas, a desert island all my own," he replied flippantly, before turning and truly facing me, watching as the threatening moisture in my eyes welled over and ran down my cheek. He reached up and touched his finger to it. "I need to get away Ali," he said; his voice suddenly strained. "I will always think of you and I will always," he hesitated.

"You will always what?"

"I don't know if I should say it, last time you nearly hit me." A slight grin at his words made me realise what he was going to utter.

"No don't say it." The tears were running fully down my cheeks now and he reached up, wiping his hands over my face, brushing them off, before he bent down and kissed me fully on the lips.

"You know how I feel about you Ali and when you know how you feel about me, maybe then I will come back." The corner of his mouth lifted in a humourless smile. And seeing as you won't take me up on my first suggestion, I had better leave now; before you change my mind. He kissed me again, tenderly lovingly before rising off the sofa. "Good luck darling, I will miss you and Tess."

"Eric – wait. I…" But I was too late for he had walked out the door and shut it behind him.

And with that he was gone – possibly for good.


	16. Chapter 15

**I am so sorry for the delay in updating (this apology seems to be a usual thing). I also forgot to say on the last chapter that the newspaper reviews were lifted from the actual papers quoted and the names changed - I cannot take credit for those. I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always - review, review, review! Pips**

Chapter Fifteen

_Christmas_

I think a little part of me died with Eric's goodbye. I didn't know what I would do for I had come to depend on him so much, emotionally and practically and whilst moving out had given me a degree of independence, he was still never very far from my thoughts.

Yet it was difficult to fully catalogue my feelings. I couldn't weep and mope for after all he was not my boyfriend, he hadn't dumped me and yet I felt nothing but sadness and depression that sucked at my soul and dragged me down.

Once again I battled the demons, trying to keep a happy face, trying to continue with a normal routine for Tess sake if not my own. My little baby was now a healthy bouncing one year old, happily cruising around our tiny living room and destroying almost everything in sight. I knew Eric would be delighted to see her and yet I didn't know how to contact him, didn't know how to find him.

Unhappiness killed my appetite so that my weight fell away making my teachers and colleagues remarked on my skeletal frame. Even James who liked me slim and light so I was easy to lift showed concern at my vanishing waist. A cruel article in a gossip magazine held me up as an example of the anorexic role models of today. It raised my ire enough to purposefully be seen and photographed eating a huge pizza.

But on the inside I kept asking myself the same question. Why? Why did I continually reject him? Why did I always hold him at arm's length? Even I could no longer answer the question and yet it tormented whenever I let myself relax and empty my head, until I almost screamed with frustration.

Time and time again I replayed various scenarios in my mind, from saying yes when he first told me of his infatuation in the kitchen; to the hundreds of moments I could have given in to him when we lived together, to the moment I very nearly did in his old bedroom.

I missed him so much, I missed his parents and I missed the life we had started to build together. Every few weeks, Helena would leave sweet messages on my phone and on a couple of occasions we had a stilted conversation, but I could not find the courage to go and see them. The house was too full of memories of what almost was.

Thank heavens for make-up. Hiding behind it's smoothing surface, I could dance on stage until my feet were blistered and bruising and no one would ever know that I was weeping. All they saw was the princess, the fairy; the swan that was dancing her heart out, who loved her life and found her prince.

The public had taken James and I to their hearts as principle dancers and as our notoriety and success increased, so did our positions as celebrities of the dance world. Suddenly we were on the covers of magazines; called upon for our opinions on a variety of subjects, ballet related and otherwise and invited to numerous events and openings.

It was the life I had always hoped for and I life I could not embrace, practically due to the childcare needs of my daughter and emotionally because my heart was elsewhere.

And so I accepted as much work as I could and danced my life away. In the months since he left I had led thirty-two ballets; an obscene amount for any dancer. I knew I was pushing myself; punishing myself even and that I was doing great harm to my body, but it was better then sitting at home alone.

It was therefore unsurprising that I was to dance the role of Cinderella three times during it's Christmas run, twice before the twenty-fifth and then the day after on boxing day. Not having any claims of family I did not mind sacrificing my holiday for the entertainment of others.

I sat there after my first matinee performance, unwrapping the ribbons and slipping the shoes off my blistered and sweat soaked feet. With a groan I pulled off my tights, kicking them into a little sweaty pile and stood there in front of the mirror naked. The costume department had already reclaimed my elaborate bead encrusted tutu and I wore nothing but the paste crown pinned to my head and the heavy stage makeup.

I had precisely twenty-five minutes to get changed and leave, catch the bus home if I wished to give Tess her bath and put her to bed instead of the babysitter. But all I wanted to do was sit down and rest my aching feet. Exhaustion was a constant bedfellow and if I let it get a hold of me then I would never stand up again. _Do not think Ali, just get out with it_. To allow myself the luxury of stopping was paramount to disaster – it would not do!

I unpinned my crown and slowly let my hair down, feeling the tingle from the rush of blood back into my scalp as the tension was released, although the style half held due to the vast amounts of hairspray that had been used on it. I brushed it out with practiced strokes, until my hair hung down my back once again. Only then did I make a go at removing my makeup.

Up close it was garish and over the top, huge kohl rings to my eyes, large false eyelashes and pinked cheeks on top of heavy foundation. Yet it meant that even for those sitting at the top of the house, my features were still visible. After all we were simply actresses who stood on our toes.

At this thought I glanced down at my abused feet with a grimace and a sigh wishing for the magic of Eric's hands to manipulate and sooth them. I had bought myself a footbath, which helped a bit, but I missed the intimacy of lying on the couch whilst he rubbed my feet. Damn it, I just missed him full stop!

Thankfully just as I was about to let myself sink into the blues a knock sounded on my dressing room door. "Ms de Theale you have a visitor," the doorman addressed me politely through the planks, causing me to frown. It could not be anyone from the company for even if anyone observed the courtesy of knocking, they rarely waited for a reply and would walk straight in if the door was unlocked. We were far too used to sharing cramped quarters to care about our privacy.

Therefore the formality of the request made me hesitate and cover myself in the tattered dressing gown that hung on the back of my door. "Yes" I opened the door with a polite smile, unsure whom I would find on the other side. But instead of some over eager fan who had managed to blag their way into the inner sanctum that was backstage, I stood face to face with Helena St. John.

"Hello Ali," she said with a smile that displayed a hint of nerves, unsure of what she had to let herself in for.

"Oh goodness, what a surprise!" My inane comment was as much for the benefit of the doorman, who stood subtly to one side, obviously concerned that my guest was truly a close friend. "Come in, come in." I shot him a thankful smile and ushered Helena into my small box of a room, closing the door firmly behind her.

She stood in the middle of the floor space, her head swivelling around, taking in all the details and for once I could see the room through her eyes. My dressing table with its clutter of makeup, the photos stuck all around the mirror, the pile of dirty tights and leotards in the corner and the slightly ominous drip of the shower behind the curtain in the corner. It was far from glamorous.

"It's home," I shrugged with a smile, facing her and was thankful when she returned it; scared that she would be put off by the unappealing surroundings.

"I would have thought they would give a principle a better dressing room." Concern marred her voice.

"It is," I assured. "A few months ago I was sharing with ten other girls. This is luxury!"

"Oh you poor thing," she pulled a face before turning and facing me properly. "How are you my dear, it is so long long since I've seen you. Both you and Tess." She moved forward and I willingly fell into her welcoming arms, glad for the support and comfort they offered.

To my horrendous embarrassment tears welled up in my eyes and before I knew it I was sobbing on her shoulder, all signs of the sophisticated dancer vanished as the tears ran down my cheeks.

"Ali, Ali, Ali," Helena soothed, her hand softly stroking my hair and gently wiping the tears away. Oh sweetheart, what is the matter?"

"I'm just really glad to see you," I sobbed, raising my wet cheek off her shoulder and wincing at the wet patch I had left behind on her smart blazer. With a sniff I stepped back and claimed a tissue, wiping my eyes and nose.

"I've missed you too my dear," she reassured calmly, "and when I found out that the WI had organised a trip to the ballet, I had to come and see you. It was a bit of a battle trying to get in backstage though."

"Yeah, Dan is rather a battle axe to get through, but it is amazing the tales that people tell to try and get in. Especially the parents of over-enthusiastic little girls." I giggled slightly and blew my nose enthusiastically on a tissue. "But I'm very glad that you managed to get past him. It's lovely to see you."

"Ali, are you all right?" Helena's voice held a controlled anxiety as she took me in and I knew I looked a fright with my barely controlled hair, eyes bloodshot from crying. My dressing gown could only be called threadbare at best and my bony wrist stuck out of the sleeves by a good few inches.

I shrugged, not wanting to reply in case it set off a new wave of crying. I was okay; no better then normal; but no worse. "I'm fine."

"I have an hour until my train," she commented with a wise look. "If you don't have to rush to pick up Tess, shall we go for a coffee?" Her kindness was nearly my undoing and gave my killer watt stage smile to hide the tears once again pricking in my eyes.

"That would be lovely, I just better grab a shower and get dressed. Um, do you want to wait here," I glanced around realising that there was nowhere for her to sit and no privacy and bit my lip; not sure where I could let her go. Whilst I am sure Eric's mother would not go wandering around backstage, it would still be more then my job was worth if she were found unguided where she shouldn't be!

"Why don't I meet you at in the market, that lovely coffee shop in the middle. I will just go and grab a table, how about that?" She suggested, subtle and gracious.

"I will be as quick as I can," I promised, all thoughts of my aching feet momentarily vanished. To be with Helena was almost as good as being with Eric. I could at least hopefully find out where he was, maybe get a message to him.

I was true to my word and took the quickest shower, tided myself up and rushed out the door, slap bang into a horde of autograph hunters. I was still surprised at the public's reaction to me and had forgotten that there would be hundreds of little girls patiently waiting; their pastel autograph books and glittery pens at the ready. Still remembering the graciousness of my waiting hostess I spent ten minutes repeatedly signing my name and chatting to them, hearing their sighs of romance and their desire to be just like me. I did not have the heart to tell them of the hard work and pain that it took and potentially break their dreams.

Finally slinking off in the opposite direction to the one I needed to go to, I took advantage of the warren of lanes and allies around Covent Garden and took a detour towards the apple market and Helena. She was sitting at a table, a pot of tea in front of her and a number on a stick. Almost the moment that I sat down a waiter placed a steaming hot Panini in front of me.

"What's this?" In my surprise I was unintentionally rude but Helena simply smiled.

"I am sure you are starving after dancing like that and as I dragged you out for coffee, I thought you might like a bit. I am rather hungry as well." As if to make a point she took a dainty bit of the scone in front of her causing me to feel a rumble of hunger inside my belly.

I was too tired to feel guilt at consuming so much fat and calories and so ate the greasy cheesy sandwich with gusto, just about resisting the urge to lick my fingers afterwards. Helena said nothing but simply pushed another plate containing a second scone and jam in my direction.

It was only when I picked up the scone and ate it more daintily, obviously having sated my initial hunger that my hostess started chatting again, asking me about my daughter and how I was finding my new position. The smile that graced her face never quite reached her eyes as I talked about all that I had achieved, how wonderful it was to have been promoted and how I enjoyed the buzz of performing. I thought I was lying rather convincingly but it did not seem to pass muster with her.

"And how is Tess?" She asked when I had paused for breath in the glowing dialogue of my dancing life.

"She's…" I found myself hesitating, how could I describe my gorgeous, beautiful daughter without thinking about the man who loved her as much as I did. To my horror I felt the prick of tears in the back of my eyes again. _I mustn't cry; I mustn't_. It may me realise how much my carefully controlled façade was simply that; nothing more then a flimsy false barrier, with no more substance then paper mashie. All it took were a few kind words, an understanding pair of arms and I was all over the place.

It would seem that Helena was very good at listening to the conversation behind the words and picking up on the nuances of what I wasn't saying for as I drew to an end with a hesitant smile; she reached forward and with a motherly hand pushed a lock of hair off my face.

"They are keeping you busy aren't they dear?" I nodded in agreement with a wry smile. "Are you having any time off over Christmas then?"

"Oh yeah, we all get two weeks. I have a performance in three days and then I am off until Boxing Day. I was going to see if you wanted tickets but I guess…" I shrugged.

"Are you down at your Father's for Christmas with Tess then?" The encouraging smile on her face again.

"My Father's?" I stumbled over the word, the syllables almost foreign on my tongue. "No, he's in um Saudi Arabia for Christmas I think; or maybe Spain; I am not sure. It depends where Rani chose to go, somewhere where there is sun at the very least."

"Oh," Helena looked shocked that my family would not sweep me and my daughter to their collective bosom for the festive season; but it had never been like that in our family; at least not for a long time. "But they have been to see you perform?"

"Hmm, oh yeah, they came and saw me a couple of months back," I shrugged; it was no consequence to me. I had stopped being disappointed by my father a long time ago. My stepmother had been quite charming to me that evening and whilst I tried to return the compliment; I knew the shallow two-faced woman was just basking in the associated glory of my promotion.

"But my dear that is…" she paused obviously trying very hard to not utter the damming words against my family. "Well, would you like to come and stay with Edward and I then my dear, we would love to have you and Tess to stay for as long as you would like. We do miss seeing both of you." The smile she beamed at me was genuine; the invitation offered with hope and warmth and I couldn't turn her down.

Their kindness stopped my Christmas from being utterly miserable. Whilst I was used to dealing with the festive season in my own way; to have the family I had adopted around me was even better. I was there when the tree was bought in; helping to unpack the beautiful heirloom decorations and hang then on the thick fir branches so they reflected the hundreds of white fairy lights that wound up and down the eight foot of foliage.

With Edward's help and Helena's directions, I helped to tack up streams of cards from the beautiful corniced ceilings and fill the house with fresh holly and fir. All in all it was a beautiful warm and festive welcome and I could not even object when my hostess hung out a stocking for my little girl and myself.

There was only one thing missing and that was Eric. I could tell that Helena almost craved his presence at much as I did; but like me was used to a certain degree of disappointment with his absence. From the few things she said; for she was not one to gossip, I gained the impression that he had not been the most dutiful and loving of son's over the past few years and had in fact been difficult; demanding; wilful and on occasion down right rude.

I had to hide a smile when Helena tactfully described her son's less then desirable behaviour; for I had witnessed some of it first hand and it made him much more of a rounded young person then the saint that she wished him to be. It also made me desperately want him even more.

It did not help that every morning, I would entrust Tess to Helena's care and then climb the two flights of stairs to Eric's attic room. It was the only place in the house with a wooden floor and as carpet was not suitable for dancing on in Pointe shoes; it was the only place, apart from the kitchen that I could do my exercises.

There in the garret room, I could put my on my shoes; stick on a CD of music from the collection that littered the shelves and for an hour go through the range of stretches and lifts that I did every day of my life; almost without fail. A couple of times Eric's mother had come and sat on the sofa, watching me and I could tell that like many people she was astounded at the ability of our movements. There always seemed to be a mystique surrounding ballet dances; probably because our sport was so locked away from everyone else and we were only bought out to parade in front of an audience.

Still, it made me proud to be able to show off for her slightly, to astound her with my ability to put my leg up by my ear whilst standing on my toes. It was nice to receive unabashed praise, rather then the critical eye of my teachers.

And so for a week before Christmas, the routine of my days settled into an hour of exercise in the morning, a lazy lunch, a walk with Tess and a fine dinner. Helena and Edward were kindness itself and treated me like a daughter; determined to leave me wanting for nothing. I was as happy as I could be; for the one thing I wanted they could not give me.

Christmas Day dawned, quiet and dark the sort of morning that made me want to snuggle down under the duvet and cuddle up. I tried to but unfortunately my daughter had other ideas. Standing up in her cot; she howled the house; demanding that I pay her attention. In desperation I finally took her into bed with me; scared that her yelling would wake the other sleeping occupants in the house. As luck would have it; she promptly fell asleep; her face buried into the crook of my arm; leaving me not quite awake, but not asleep either.

As insomniacs will know; the early hours of the morning are cruel; as night seems to stretch into every corner of existence leaving the awake with only their thoughts for company. So I lay there; listening to the sounds of an old house as it was settled for the night; the comforting wheeze of the boards settling; the ticking of the clock in the hall and the occasional muted sound of a passing car. Finally after what seemed like never ending hours I once again drifted into repose.

Morning seemed to come too early after that and it was not long until daylight once again poured into the room. It was Christmas Day! I should be full of seasonal joy; ready to spring out of bed and let my daughter enjoy the pleasures of ripping paper off a hundred presents. Instead I snuggled further into the cocooning warmth of the bed and tried to ignore the wriggling beside me.

I must have dozed off again for I woke with a start; only to find that Tess was next in bed with me! Panic flooded through my body and I leant over the side of the bed wondering if she had wriggled off the side. Nope, there was no sign of my daughter; I was alone in the room. I dived out of bed, shaking with fear, trying to reassure myself that last time this happened she had been with Eric. But Eric wasn't here and I knew that Helena and Edward would not cross the boundaries of politeness and enter my room whilst I was asleep.

I did not even stop to put on my robe, but dashed out the room; practically throwing myself down the stairs and into the kitchen. It was empty and eerily quiet, the only sound was the spitting of the Turkey in the oven. Otherwise the kitchen was spotless.

Then I heard the sound of carol music coming from the living room and laughed pathetically in relief! Of course it was Christmas day – everyone would be gathered around the tree doing what families did on Christmas day – I had almost forgotten it had been so long since I had a real family gathering.

I enter the living room; humming the carol under my breath and stopped dead; shock freezing my features. He turned towards me away from where he had been admiring my efforts at tree decoration, Tess sitting on his hip.

"Hello Ali. Merry Christmas."


	17. Chapter 16

**Okay - don't hit me for the way this chapter ends, there is more to come (not much, a bit) and I didn't want to stick all of it into one chapter on the end. Bit of evil of me isn't it! Still, I suppose I could hold you to ransom and say that the next chapter won't be posted until you give me five hundred reviews. But that's mean isn't it - okay - fifty - no, all right I just would like to read your opinion, it is always welcome.**

**Pips**

Chapter Sixteen

_Pas de Deux_

Eric & Ali 

The surprise that was etched on her face as she stood in the doorway was almost comical, if it had not been so heart wrenching. She froze; standing as still as a statue and it was only as I watched her pinch her lip between her teeth that I realised she was frantically assimilating my presence and how she should react. She took a deep breath and I watched as her shoulders squared and an aura of calm settled over her. I was seeing Christine de Theale the renowned dancer; not my darling Ali.

Her wordless presence allowed me to take a good look at her and with a pang of regret, I noticed how skinny she was. Her collar bones stuck out in sharp relief, her face gaunt and only relieved by the waterfall of blonde hair that fell across her face. She was too thin, even for a dancer.

Her features finally regained mobility and I could not tear my gaze away as I watched it move through it's full quota of expressions. Joy, anger, confusion, worry. She finally settled for anger.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" She hissed through clenched teeth. I blinked in surprise for whilst I thought that some anger was acceptable; deserved even, I hadn't expected her eyes to be flashing such sparks of fury or the look of disdain that swept across her face.

"Aren't I allowed to come home for Christmas?" I sparred back automatically, hitching Tess higher on my hip. She had grown in my absence and was now a significant weight in my arms.

Hesitation extinguished Ali's anger as she stood there. To approach and take Tess might mean that she would have to drop her guard, but she couldn't miss the massive smile that her daughter beamed at her. Holding out my free arm I beckoned.

"When did you arrive?" she demurred, taking a step further into the room, but still not approaching me.

"About an hour ago. My flight got in very early this morning."

"Flight?" Her eyes widened and I saw confusion in their depths. "Where? Where've you been?" Her voice was pleading and she took another step towards Tess and I.

"I told you in my letter," I replied, surprised but slightly mollified by the bewildered look on her face.

"Letter? What letter. I didn't get a letter."

"I left you one of the table; in my flat." I matched the steps she had taken towards me, letting Tess slide down off my hip, my arm cramped with holding her. Immediately the little monkey sensed her freedom and with drunken steps made her way over to the fir tree groaning with decorations, and the presents piled high around it's base. .

"Teresa, no," Ali said firmly, moving swiftly so that she was by her daughter's side, gently brushing the blonde curls off her face with a loving hand. "We'll open some presents later, okay darling. Now; do you want some breakfast?"

I realised the change in conversation was her way of dealing with my unexpected arrival. Instead of treading that potentially painful path of our relationship; we could concentrate on her daughter instead.

To my surprise and I think Ali's shock; Tess tugged away from her touch with a cry and flung herself at my leg, holding on tight with chubby little hands and a wobbling bottom lip.

"She's a drama queen this one," Ali said, straightening up, a ghost of a smile on her face. "As long as that is the only thing she inherits from James, then I don't mind." She scooped Ali away from my side and marched off into the kitchen, leaving our conversation and all it's answered questions dangling in the air.

I stood gawking for a moment as reality was so far removed from what I had imagined. Then realising that nothing would be achieved with her in another room I quickly followed both of them into the kitchen where they were caught in a battle to put Tess into her highchair. At the moment it seemed Tess was winning by making herself stiff so that she couldn't be placed in the seat.

"Oh bloody hell; sit down child," Ali shouted in frustration, her face red with aggravation. I couldn't resist the urge to silently come up alongside and with a gentle hand convinced her daughter to sit. She looked up at me with grateful smile before it dropped into a neutral expression again.

"Thanks," the words were polite, but the tone was surly with suppressed anger and disappointment. I realised that I was getting no where. Shock – that must be it. She was in shock. Best I retreat and let her come round.

"Look, I'll go and grab a shower and stuff, um let you get Tess up and I guess we'll talk; chat; um see each other…" I trailed off as she turned her glare on me. Yup, definitely time to retreat.

_I glowered at the bowl of soggy rice krispies that was Tess' breakfast. How dare he! I could not believe that he thought he could casually stroll back into my life. The first moment of shock almost had me running for his embrace, but then I realised that was what he wanted, expected. Oh no. He couldn't abandon me and then suddenly expect to return and have me fall into his arms in a moment, I was made of sterner stuff then that._

_Thankfully just as I spooned the last mouth of wet cereal into my daughter's mouth, the back door opened and reinforcements arrived in the shape of Helena and Edward._

_"Ali, Merry Christmas darling," Helena called, taking off a coat before coming and kissing my cheek, her face cold and bright with the frost outside. "I thought you would like to sleep in this morning. Did Tess let you?"_

_"Yes," I said hesitantly, taking in her smiling visage and wondering if she knew that Eric was home. "Um Helena, did you know that?" Out of the corner of my eye I saw Edward subtly shake his head raising his finger to his lips. Obviously Eric's presence was to be as much as a surprise for her as it was for me. "Did you realise that I turned the oven down, like it says in the cookbook?" Pathetic excuse, but I saw Edward's smile._

_"What? Oh thank you dear." She walked over to the oven, unwinding her classic Hermés scarf from around her neck. It was obvious from their smart dress they had been to church. She peered at the turkey merrily spitting in the oven. Obviously it was doing whatever turkey was suppose to do; for she nodded in a satisfied way and turned her attention to her husband as he pulled a chilled bottle of Champagne out of the fridge._

_"Darling," shall we go and open some presents?" His voice was casual, not betraying his secret._

_"That would be lovely dear," she replied, causing me to smile at their somewhat formal way of treating each other. It was very different from the messy relationships I was used to, although I suppose after years of marriage one did settle down into a certain routine._

_"Well, come on then; into the living room, Ali you and Teresa as well. I will be with you in a moment." He shooed as off to sit in the comforting warmth; where I sunk into a chair, firmly holding Tess on my lap, not allowing her to approach and destroy the tree – her primary objective._

_Edward joined us moments later, his face flushed with pleasure, obviously setting Eric up for his grand entrance. Soon both Helena and I had a mountain of presents around our feet; mine embarrassingly large for someone who was not even a relative. _

_He stood back from his job of tree elf and turned his attention to his wife. "Darling; there is something else I've got for you, but as you know I'm not good as this wrapping lark, so I guess you will have to have it as it comes!" His voice had a theatrical flourish to it and we turned our head in unison towards him, Helena frowning slightly at her husband's peculiar behaviour._

_Suddenly the beautiful sound of a clear tenor floated into the living room and Eric appeared in the doorway. Helena jumped up from her chair with a gasp, a litter of small presents falling off her lap in a shower. _

_"Eric!" She stepped over the barrier of gifts and flung her arms around her son, burying her face in his shoulder as I wished I could do. "Eric, Eric, my darling boy. You're home!" She pulled back from him, tears running down her face as she ran a hand through his hair, which I noticed her had cut short again. His face was still behind it's protective plastic mask, but overall he looked healthier, stronger and fitter._

_My face painfully cracked into a smile as I watched mother and son reunited. The greeting she had given him was similar to the one I had wanted to bestow. I would be kind to him, in a little while; I just wanted answers to my questions first._

_"Hi Mum. Merry Christmas," he responded and she drew back, allowing him to draw breath. His smile was a white flash in his face, the hand that reached up to wipe the tears off her cheek, firm and tanned; not the emaciated skinny appendage I had known. The skin across his knuckles stood on in stark relief; a clear border of colour where it merged together with this own epidermis and I found myself gazing at it with a relentless fascination; easier then looking at his face._

_However my daughter; ever the traitor; wriggled of my lap and ran over to him, once again attaching herself to his leg. Without saying a word he swung her into his arms, settling her on his hip and with no more then a brief glance in my direction, continued talking to his mother._

_I tried to smile and turn my attention towards my presents, opening them with due attention; as if they were the only thing garnering my attention. Stripy legwarmers, supposedly from my daughter; bath salts, foot cream and a little bit of good quality makeup. There was also a few presents from my friends at work which bought a smile to my face. A special brand of padded plasters and corn stickers; a large packet of painkillers and a few decorative scarves that I always used to tie my hair up in when I was warming up. Ah the glamorous side of dancing._

_I looked up; realising that I had actually become carried away with my presents and has missed the fact that the family had once again settled down into an orgy of gift opening. Eric was on the floor; Tess on his lap and they were currently battling with the paper around a squashy rabbit._

_"You've been feeding your sellotape addiction again Mum," he called out to her in humour as he finally freed the toy into my daughter's waiting arms. Helena simply smiled in reply; a mistiness in her eyes. She was obviously too happy to even her the teasing sarcasm in her son's voice. He could get away with murder today as far as she was concerned._

_"Ali," Edward put another present in my lap and I frowned up at him in confusion; they had already given me so much._

_"Thanks." I looked at the label which simply said my name; although I recognised Eric's scrawly handwriting. In a more charitable moment, I had once told him that it looked as if a half dead fly had crawled across the paper. _

_I swore inwardly; for I had bought him a couple of presents but they were stashed up in my room; purchased at a time when my feelings to him were more romantic and I wished to make this clear. They were also small and could have been sent in the post; as I had no idea where he was either._

_Turning my attention back towards the heavy rectangular object sitting on my lap I pulled the paper off and frowned. It was a vase. A very nice crystal vase, but hardly the sort of present that declared undying love and it did not match what I had thought were his feelings for me._

_"Thank you Eric," I said realising that he was watching me and I turned my head towards him, trying to mask my disappointment at the coldness of the gift. I narrowed my eyes slightly as I thought I saw the smallest of smirks ripple across his lips. It could have been my over active imagination, so I decided to ignore it._

_"I know you don't have one," he spoke pointedly and matched my features. Fake smile for fake smile._

_"No, you're right. It's very kind and thoughtful. Um, right I had really better go and get dressed and get Tess dressed. With that comment I picked Tess up from his lap and hurried off upstairs._

"Do you think Ali is all right? Did she like her presents?" My mother turned her attention away from me for a moment to glance at the pile of gifts making an untidy tower next to the chair in which her guest had been sitting. "Her friends have given her some strange presents," she commented. "Fancy a large packet of painkillers!"

"I think it was a joke Mum," I replied. "Whoever it was also gave her plasters." My eye was drawn to the vase abandoned a little way from her other things. I could tell that she was angry with me for giving such a serious and unfeeling Christmas present. I had originally planned to give it to her as a silly gift, but decided instead to use it to provoke a reaction and I very nearly got one.

I stood up, shaking out my legs, which still had a tendency to cramp if I sat in one position for too long. "I'll just grab a binbag," I muttered casting my eye over the sea of wrapping and ribbons, wanting to do something useful and not simply sit here having my mother fuss over me all day.

"No Eric, sit; I'll do that!" My mother jumped up before I had a chance to bend over and pick a single thing up off the floor.

"I don't mind."

"Well I do, you're home, you should rest and relax and not have to worry about all this." I smiled and gently placed my hand on her shoulders, bending over and pecking her cheek.

"I want to. Why not see if Ali needs some help with Tess instead?" I suggested in an attempt to stop her running around after everyone all day.

"Yes, yes, okay." She briefly put a hand over mine, patting it gently and smiling in a way that I knew she was not looking at me in the here and now, but another place far away in her imagination or memory. And then with a brief nod towards my father she calmly walked out the room, leaving us men alone to sort the situation.

I went and grabbed a recycling sack and started to toss the paper that littered the living room floor into it. The hard work of several weeks of shopping and wrapping cast onto the carpet in a matter of minutes. "You're idea worked well Dad," I commented towards my father as I picked up a gift tag to my mother, making me recall the tears in her eyes earlier. He was sitting in an easy chair frowning over a paperback of puzzles and managing to ignore my chores.

"Yes, thought your mother would appreciate the theatre of surprise. Had wanted to surprise Ali as well, but she obviously knew." He spoke without looking up from the page.

"Came looking for Tess earlier and found us together." I straightened up and rubbed my back slightly. It was still cramped from having a toddler balanced on my hips.

"Ah," Dad nodded slowly, looking for all the world as if he was not paying any attention towards the conversation at all. I was not fooled. His outward demeanour was simply a front whilst he was thinking what to say next. "She didn't seem too um, happy, at your return."

"A shock, at least I hope so. I missed her." I barely realised that I had uttered the words until they were out of my mouth. Even my father seemed surprised for he put his book down and gave me his full attention; a slight smile on his lips.

"You missed her eh? Well I think she missed you. When your mother went to see her after a show she was in quite a state and you can see how skinny she is. I don't think she is coping as well as she would like us to think. You two need to sit down and have a good thrashing out, far too many unsaid things between you."

I blinked slightly in surprise, for whilst my father's comments were spot on, I did not expect them to be in the arena of relationships. Car maintenance, banking, golf, yes – but love?

"Thrash it out."

"Yes, you know, explain your absence, what you've been doing and all that. She hasn't said anything to me directly but your mother is convinced that she was very cut up by your sudden departure."

"I had no choice, you know that! Besides we were going around in ever decreasing circles anyway."

"Yes, well it still doesn't make sense to her. Go on and talk to her."

"What now?" I exclaimed in shock. This wasn't part of the plan.

"Why not now? She upstairs at the moment. Carpe Diem and all that. Get your mother to bring Tess down and she can play with her new toys." He pulled a face before once again raising the book as if her were shocked my how much advice he had offered.

It seemed that there was nothing to it but to follow such wise counsel; especially if the truth was anything similar to what my father hinted at. So after dumping the rubbish bag went to find Ali and Tess. Childish bellyful giggles alerted me to the fact that Tess was now downstairs and a peek around the door let me see her playing with a new toy.

She was dressed in a little red smocked dress, her blonde curly hair already escaping from a little ribbon. In a moment of heartache I realised how much I had missed her.

"Carpe Diem indeed," I muttered to myself and the shadows in the hallway, as I climbed the stairs and hesitated outside the ajar door of the guest room. The whisper of clothes being sorted and the soft sound of her breathing, only interrupted by the ticking of the clock.

"Bugger," her words ripped the silence causing me to snigger and push the door open further.

"Bugger what?" I asked with amusement, seeing her in a half crouch by the bed.

"I've just holed my tights. You think it would be the one item of clothing I was used to putting on, but not ten denier!" She held up the ruined pair, one long large ladder renting a leg from groin to knee. With a sigh and a shake of her head she threw them to the floor and pulled another pair out the box. "Why were you skulking outside the door anyway?"

"I wasn't skulking, I came to see you."

"Well thanks for knocking." The tone was sarcastic and I realised with a shock as she stood up that all she wore was a pair of high cut knickers and her tights; now fully in place. Studying her figure critically and impassively I couldn't say she was beautiful. Her physique was muscular from hours of dancing and there wasn't enough weight on her body to hold it all together so she looked on the gaunt side. I preferred her body when we first met, whilst she was still carrying the extra few pounds that pregnancy had given her, softening the angles to curves.

She didn't say a word as I studied her body, didn't blush or try to hide behind a crossing of her arms or turning of her body. Instead she stood there, cool and impassive, staring straight back at me.

"You're looking thin," I finally stuttered, like a blushing schoolboy.

"And you have finally put some weight on and are looking better," she replied in a sharp tone. "Now have you come for any other purpose then to insult me?" She turned and picked up a beautiful skirt that I had not noticed lying on the bed. It's length and cut swished against her ankles, softening out the lines of her body. She matched it with a wool sweater whose softness once again marred the sharpness of her shoulder blades and drew attention to her bright blue eyes. Eyes that were currently flashing fire.

I didn't want to stare but couldn't help myself as I watched her dress, her movements economical and easy. She was not embarrassed and it made watching her easy.

"Are you enjoying staring?"

"No, I; no." I paused. "Yes actually, I like watching you."

"So do a lot of people, although I'm not usually putting my clothes on when they do." I suddenly realised it was a pathetic attempt at humour. Yet she didn't give me a moment to interrupt and barge into the scene by starting a conversation as I had hoped, but simply turned once again to the bed, this time to open a shoebox.

There is something about women and shoes that I will never understand, a connection at the physiological level maybe. She held them up reverently, the sun choosing that precise moment to burst through the grey cloud cover and highlight them in it's beam.

"You're not wearing those!" I exclaimed in shock, looking at the spindly high heels of the classic stiletto she held in her hand. It's pointed toe and soft leather swept into an almost unsupported high heel, held in place by a strap across the arch of the foot.

"Yes I bloody well am. Why shouldn't I?" Her anger sounded petulant.

"Because you told me ages ago that dancer's shouldn't wear high heels. You wouldn't be that stupid, would you?"

"Shouldn't wear high heels Eric, not mustn't. In the same way you shouldn't take your mask off; although I know you do and you shouldn't take drugs and you shouldn't sleep around and you shouldn't abandon those you love!" I was momentarily stunned about how a conversation regarding footwear turned into a personal attack.

"Well you shouldn't be such a bitch," I retorted in fury, hurting from her verbal attack.

"Bitch!" Her face froze for the briefest of moments before crumpling in rage and I felt the air whistle past my ear as the shoe went flying. It's partner was more accurate and hit me square in the chest.

"Fine, if that's the way you want to play it," I roared, too furious to care about my actions. Grabbing her around her waist I threw her over my shoulder like a sandbag, feeling her wrists banging on my back. She hardly weighed anything.

"Stop it you bastard, put me down. You have no idea how to lift a woman you oaf." I was deaf to her curses though and steeled myself against the sharp little blows of her fists until we were another floor in my studio. There I unceremoniously dumped her on the couch.

She looked at me, the redness draining from her face, her new outfit mussed from the fireman's lift and her careful hairstyle ruined. "Bastard," she hissed through clenched teeth. I couldn't help the small smile that crept onto me lips as I saw the start of another ladder in her tights, running up from her ankle.

"Now," I said, my chest heaving with the exertion of carrying her up the stairs. "Can I just confirm that you are Christine Alison de Theale, mother to Teresa Marie de Theale and principle dancer with the Royal Ballet?"

"Yes! What the hell are you…" I held up a hand cutting off her questions.

"No, I am asking the questions. Now, as you claim to be the woman I used to know, can I ask why you seem to be acting as if you barely know me?" I tried to mask the question in a sneer, but knew it sounded more desperate then I intended. However I needed to know an explanation for her unwelcoming and unfriendly behaviour. Whilst I reasonably justified that she should not fall into my arms, I still expected a civil hello. Having a shoe thrown at my head did not count as civil in my books.

I wiped my hand through my hair, feeling the chill of the air in the room, pleasant against my sweating skin. Suddenly the need for air was overwhelming and I tore at the Velcro straps that held my mask in place, pulling it off my face and throwing it onto the piano stool before turning and facing Ali again. She had been sitting stonily silent on the couch, grinding her teeth in either anger, frustration or both, but when I looked at her again she glanced up and froze.

"Oh my god Eric!" the words fell from her lips as she stood up off the couch and stood in front of me, her eyes searching my face, studying it intently. I could not help the shiver as she raised her hand, her fingertips gently stroking down the side of my cheek, almost tickling in their lack of contact as if she were scared to touch it.

I wanted to speak, wanted to say something; anything. Continue the fight that we had been having; explain what had happened, where I had gone, but it was useless. Rational thought had grown wings and taken flight; leaving me hypnotic under her touch.

Her hand finally fell away, but she still stood there, her head tilted back; her spine ramrod straight staring at me with her intense blue eyes, tears swimming in the back of them. I watched helplessly as one of them spilled over; running a simple trail down her cheek, followed by one more and then another until she was crying hard. "Ali, darling; don't cry." I spoke softly but it was the wrong words for with a howl she flung her arms around me, face pressed into my sweater; her sobs soaking my front.

I stood there, letting her cry, the sound more painful then any of her anger; any of the blows she had inflicted on me, almost more sore and defiantly more excruciating then the shoes. It was a good five minutes before she drew back; hiccupping slightly, her arms puffed and red, matching her nose. Her beautiful wool top was crushed and damp; as was my front. Wordlessly I pulled her across to the couch and onto my lap, cradling her against me as if it were her daughter.

"Were have you been?" The words came out with hiccups and I smiled tugging at her ears. "Oww, oww, that's not funny, what are you doing?"

"Curing your hiccups," I replied with a grin. "What did you say?"

"Where did you go? I assume it was to do with…" she nodded towards my face.

"Yes, mainly. It was a surgeon in America who is a leading specialist in his field with reconstructive surgery on facial burns. I didn't know he could see me until forty-eight hours before my appointment, which is why I left so suddenly. It's just the way it was, if I hadn't been then I might have to wait a year or more."

"It's looking a lot better," she said, shyly ducking her face against her arm. The reds gone away and the grafts not so obvious. Will he be able to do more? Do you still need to wear the mask?"

"No not really, yes. I mean no, there is not that much more he can do, it just has to heal now, but yes I still need to wear the mask, not all the time and not forever, probably until summertime next year is a rough guess." I shrugged. "It's getting better all the time and I can have the mask off for three hours a day now, which is nice. Makes it tighter to put it back on though, reminds me of when I used to wear braces and it changed to a retainer."

"Yeah, or when you first put on a new pair of ballet shoes when you've been dancing in old ones," she supplemented causing me to laugh.

"Something I've never experienced. Well, after my surgery I just had to hide away and recover and I went to the Caribbean. I have an old friend there with a house and it has a recording studio, so I just spent some time there recovering. Recovering and recording."

"Recovering in the Caribbean?" The shock was evident in her voice. "You've been in the Caribbean and you could not be bothered to send me a letter, or and e-mail or even, heavens forbid, call me and say that was where you were? Do you have any idea what I've been going through these past few months Eric? Are you always this egotistical and selfish? No, don't answer that, of course you are, why shouldn't you be. Your parents worship the ground you walk on; you've never had to be anything other then perfect your entire life. If you get bored you just up sticks and walk out and let someone else's life fall apart. Well Eric, this girl has had enough! I am so stupid sometimes. God, you would think once bitten twice shy, but I guess I didn't learn my lesson this time did I?"

_His comment riled me beyond belief! To think there I was slaving away in England and he was living it up in the Caribbean. And he couldn't be bothered to tell me. I knew then with no hint of uncertainty that he had gone back to his old ways, once again being the playboy; charming, kissing bonking; but never loving. Oh no, Eric St. john did not love anyone; except himself!_

_Without another word I slipped off his lap, pulling away from his touch as if it were diseased, riled beyond belief not only with his behaviour but also with my stupidity. I loved him so much, imagined that he and I had a future together and yet he could not be bothered. I should have known that silence was the end, but held on as I could not let go._

_"I hate you!" I hissed, swinging around to face him before flouncing off through the door and slamming it shut behind me. I managed to get all the way to the bottom step before I could go no further and burst once again into noisy tears._


	18. Chapter 17

**Hello, I promised a quick update! It unfortunatly means that the story is nearing it's conclusion - quelle horror! No idea what I am going to write next - any suggestions?**

**Thank you for all your kind reviews and messages, it brightens my day. Pips xox**

Chapter Seventeen

Stupid woman, stupid bloody woman! One minute she was all sweet and lovely, cuddling up to me, the next she was breathing fire and swearing undying hate. I had no idea how I was suppose to approach, talk to her, love her. It was like trying to hold sand, for as soon as I thought I had a grip she would slip through my fingers. Well damn her! I had spent the best part of eight hours flying through the night so I could come home and see her and all she could do was hit and swear at me.

There was only one way I could deal with the fury that flowed through my veins. I stalked across to the piano, picking up the mask and pressing it to my face once more. In a curious way its hold was comforting, the pressure familiar. I could cope with its presence far more easily then with Ali's fluctuating temper.

Sitting down on the stool I lifted the lid and put my finger to the keys, letting a barrage of noise flow out. No happy, loving Christmas Carols for me. Away in the Manager was far away from what I was playing. This was music that took hold and wouldn't let go. Possessive, intense, prying music that crept into your system and ripped you apart. It was this music that had been my mistress for the past few months, not one of flesh and blood.

Damn her, I thought as I hit the keys with force. Why could she not just do as planned? I knew that my leaving her would hurt, it was calculated to. I was a true believer in the age old fact that you never know what you had until it was gone. The theory had been forced upon me. Ali and I had been wandering around each other, feinting and parrying with our feelings, but never letting go; never surrendering and I knew that retreat would be the only way to win the battle.

I was so sure that I knew Ali, was convinced that she would retreat to my apartment where I left a long and eloquent letter for her explaining my actions. The keys to the car also lay on the table so she would have wheels and in an envelope were two tickets for her and Tess to see me. I believed it to be the perfect plan. Possibly slightly melodramatic, but I felt she would appreciate that and thought she needed the three or so weeks it might take for her anger to dissipate and her love to come to the fore.

But obviously it hadn't worked that way. I had forgotten about her damn pride. I have should have calculated it really. A woman did not raise a daughter single handed without any assistance from her family unless she had a spine of steel to support her. Judging by her appearance she had instead internalised her emotions, let them eat away at her both mentally and physically.

I paused in my playing, as I thought I heard a shuffling at the door, letting the music changed from the earlier anger of the score into the long sweeping and lilting notes that I referred to as Ali's dance. That piece of music that I had recorded all those months ago. A smile came to my face as I played for I could not contain it. In those notes were all the love, passion and fear I felt for the girl who I knew was listening outside the door.

Oh god, it was all such a mess! My carefully planned and plotted path was disintegrating before my eyes and was not quite sure what I could do to rectify the situation. Obviously abject apology and a lot of pleading on bended knee had a high chance of working, but that was not my style; nor was it Ali's. Boy, she didn't hide the fact that she was pissed off.

There was the music, this beautiful piece that was the pas de deux highlight of the whole ballet I had now completed. It was fully written and recorded and ready to be choreographed. On the strength of the piece of Ali's dance, the Royal Ballet had accepted the piece and was due to work on it for their period two release. Without a doubt it would be choreographed on Ali. It was to be one of the gifts I would have given her today, the icing on the cake of devotion I had been prepared to feast her with. Obviously that was before she chucked her shoes at me.

Her manner seemed so wary; as if she had convinced herself of my guilt. Possibly it was the lack of contact between us this past few months that had made her jumped to the conclusions that I had once again returned to sleeping around and taking drugs. I snorted at the irony, for it was so far from the truth.

I had sort refugee in Mattie Burns's villa that he had on the island of Barbados; a place where more then once I had spent indulged in the antics that Ali imagined. But this time apart from the kindly housekeeper and her husband, both of whom fussed over me more then my mother, I had been alone.

Once I would have found balked at the idea but this time I found the tranquillity a balm. I spent my days composing, followed by an evening swim and an early night spent reading or on the computer. The beautiful house and its staff were all I needed as I recovered from the operation and more slowly from my heart.

Time and time again I had written to Ali, everything from begging letters and e-mails to strict brusque request to call me and tirades of anger at her silence. It had never occurred to me, in my wildest dreams that she had never read my letter and therefore never understood my heart.

I pushed back from the keys with a cry of realisation. Whilst I could not turn back time; the one thing I did have on my laptop was the draft of the letter I had left for her. As she was always so rude about my abysmal handwriting I had typed my feelings and added a PS in ink. And I still had that very same letter on my computer sitting with my unpacked bag in the corner of my bedroom!

It was time to do something about this farce and it couldn't wait a moment longer.

_I knelt there with my ear pressed to the planks, unable to move; bound by the music flowing from the room. More then anything Eric had said to me, it made me realise the anguish and pain he had been through. You could not compose such music without it piercing you soul. Guilt flooded through me at that thought, hot and white and burning in it's path. I had helped cause that pain for time and time again I had rejected him, it was hardly surprising that he left me._

_Just as I was about to stand and enter the room, the music changed, from the pounding tempo of earlier it was melodic flowing cords, that cried out their passion and heartache. It was as if the music was asking for my love. I knew this piece! I could not hum it or dance blind to it's notes the way I could to the scores I had grown up with in the rehearsal rooms, more that it sat just beyond my conscious reach, echoing through my dreams and thoughts. I had heard snippets of it here and there, he had once even offered the CD to me, but I had heavier thoughts on my mind and had left it on top of his piano. He never offered it again._

_Suddenly I was aware that the music has stopped, it's absence leaving a great gapping hole in my emotions. Suddenly I craved the __noise, wanted to hear it again for the emptiness of silence was almost painful. Except the music had been replaced with the creak of someone standing up and the squeak of the floorboards. Unless I wanted to be discovered I needed to disappear. My lack of courage won the day and I beat a hasty retreat back to my bedroom._

_It took a while for my heart to calm down to a normal tempo again__, fuelled by the adrenalin of nearly being discovered. I sat on the edge of the bed, examining by holey tights with a grimace – another pair down the drain. Glancing up, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror hanging above the dressing table. Was it possible to look anymore bedraggled then me?_

_Tears tracks marked my cheeks, outlined with black mascara, there were huge dark rings under my eyes where my carefully applied foundation had been rubbed off. My lipstick had smeared itself away and my eyes were bloodshot. It looked like I needed to do an industrial repair job and could have done with the help of the thick pancake that I used on stage to hide the damage. Instead all I had was light and simple cosmetics._

_Even my beautiful skirt and top bought on an indulgent whim in Covent Garden one lunchtime; were now creased and my shoes were discarded on the floor, one half under the bed where my bad aim had thrown it; the other at the foot. The sight of them reminded me of my current torment and misery. I had no idea what Eric had been up to and accused him of all the darkest imagining my fevered mind had dredged up through the sleepless nights I had endured over the past few months._

_Deep down I didn't believe them, but then I could find no other explanation, no other reason for his extended absence and the silence that split us more deeply then any distance. Therefore it was easier to attack and accuse before he could make excuses and lull me into a false sense of security. I knew that as soon as I let my guard down I would be his and nothing would separate us again._

_Sinking into the rocking chair I covered my eyes with the palm of hands and slowly let the movement carry me back and forth, calming my throbbing head and jumpy heart. I knew that I needed to repair my face and join in the Christmas celebrations, this was not a time to hide in my room._

_I gently moved my hands, blinking slightly as my eyes adjusted to the cool winter's light that flooded through the window. I gave a smile to my reflection and set about removing the damage of the makeup, whilst humming a Christmas carol and trying to recover a bit of the festive spirit.__ The smell of turkey wafted upstairs along with the strains of carols on the radio as if trying to remind me what today was and how happy I should be._

_It didn't work; instead only serving to make me more miserable. In the season of goodwill and love I was unhappy and adrift. Therefore the rustle of paper being pushed under the door startled me, my nerves already stretched and jumpy. It was a envelope, my name clearly written on the front, the handwriting making it obvious who the author was. It took me a mere second to cross the room and withdraw the contents, desperate to know what the letter said. Was this a terse communication terminating any form of relationship? Had I finally lost my best friend and truest love through plain stupidity?_

_With shaking hands I unfolded the two pieces, the clearly typed words breaking a smile on my face. He knew how scathing I was of his handwriting. I wanted to skim through it, desperate to know what it said, but patience and fear made me calmly sit down in the rocking chair, smooth the two sheets out and start to read. Immediately the date jumped out at me clearly. August! This was old – the letter he claimed to have written to me explaining his departure and and extended absence. The letter I never received._

'My darling Ali,

As you are reading this, I can only guess that you have come to the flat. It should be easier now that I am not there and these rooms are as much yours as mine. I never realised how big and emptying and echoing it was until you and Tess left me here alone.

Please feel free to stay here and use whatever you need to use, do whatever you need to do. I know the floor is good for you to practice your dancing, I think there may even be an abandoned ballet shoe under the couch still, the cleaner said she pushed something under there. Likewise the car keys are on the table and you know you are fully insured on the Landie, so please use it as yours.

I miss you already and I haven't even left yet. I miss you here, Tess' laugh as you give her a bath, her soft breathing at night, even the worst nappy she can produce. She is a darling girl and I love her as my own.

I miss you too, my darling Ali, my stubborn dancer. I am sorry for having to do it this way, abandoning you. But before I can explain, before you start swearing and shooting fire at any picture of me you can find, please read and listen. Come and join me! I know it is not that easy for you, but if you can find a way to take a break then there are two tickets in with this letter and I beg that you and Tess come and see me; stay with me.

So why have I gone? I know that is what you are asking me and in someways that question is very easy to answer and very difficult.

The reason for the my haste is that I had to go and see a man about a face, or rather a surgeon to see if he could help repair the one I have. It is a specialist in America, who is leading the field with reconstructive surgery on burn victims. I am hoping that he has accepted my doctors request for surgery, but will have next to no notice to fly out there. If he says jump all I can ask is how high, for appointments with him are gold dust. He may or not say there is anything he can do, but if he can then it will be straight away and it will be quick. And like all these horrid operations there are weeks of recovery afterwards.

I will be in hospital for about a week and then have to do and hide somewhere. I am an evil evil person when in pain and high on morphine. I don't want you to witness that, I don't want you to panic or worry and so that is one of the reasons I haven't told you until now.

That was the simple answer, now for the more difficult.

I love you Ali! God it is so wonderful to write these words. I am scared to say them to you, for I don't know how you are feeling. Oh deep down I know. I know that you love me, but I believe you are scared because of it. I realise that love had dealt you more then it's fair share of hard blows in life and I can understand why you turn from it, but please believe me when I promise that I love you with all my heart and never wish to hurt you!

I can almost hear you snort at the contradiction I just made. Have I hurt you with my disappearance darling? Maybe I have and part of me wants to; just a little bit so that you realise how much you love me – that is all I can hope for.

So if you agree. If absence has made your heart grow fonder then please bring Tess and come and see me. I will be out in Barbados, in a friend's old house and it will rattle without you two to fill it.

I can say no more. I am not going to read what I've written for I know without a doubt this is the corniest thing I have ever composed. Forgive me for that, but know that every words comes from the heart.

I cannot wait to see you my darling one.'

_I stopped reading as Eric had not bothered to sign this copy, but looked up with tears streaming down my cheeks once again. Oh god, it was the most beautiful and stupid letter that I had ever been written. It made me realise how much he loved me and what an idiot I had been. On the other hand he wasn't exactly clever, assuming that I would definitely go back to the flat._

_I nearly had on several occasions, but had always stopped myself, scared that I would just mop in memories. And every time that I stopped myself I would hurt a little deeper and steel myself against his love a little more._

_Sitting back I sucked my upper lip, overwhelmed with the passion and tenderness of what I had just read. It was a part of Eric I knew existed, but hardly ever saw. He was more likely to show it through his composing, such as the piece I had just heard on the staircase. He loved me. The words were so simple and there I was flinging all sorts of accusations in his face, condemning his emotions to simple desires of the body and not of the heart._

_He was right when he said I was scared, for it was true. Love was not something I trusted. Those ties that are suppose to be so obvious did not exist for me, the love of parents and siblings. I barely knew my Mother, disliked my father intensely and was indifferent about my brother. All I knew was that I needed an answer for him once I left the sanctity of this room, for there was no way he would let me escape again now he had declared his hand._

_The wail of my daughter ran through the house; disrupting the piece and immediately placing me on high alert. I had ignored her for far too long. With a glance in the mirror and a quick swipe of a brush through my hair, I was ready to go downstairs – no longer needing the protective shield of perfect hair and makeup. I could save that for the stage tomorrow._

_I opened the door lightly, not wishing to attract attention; just in case Eric was waiting in his room, or worse; outside! Thankfully the coast was clear and I lightly ran downstairs, looking for my daughter. _

_It was as if fate had given me another chance for once again I stopped in the doorway of the living room. Once again, Eric was alone in there with my daughter in his arms. Together they were sitting at the piano, her hands slapping at the ivories in a random harmony, accompanied by her giggles, whilst he braced his arms either side of hers, pushing the keys down in resonant chords._

_The din drowned out any other sound, so I was able to approach them silently, neither showing any awareness of my presence until I stood next to the piano. He looked up and saw me then, standing there, my eyes beseeching; a hesitant smile on my lips. __And I watched as his mouth widened in reflection of mine. His large hands removing my daughters hands from the din and holding them loosely in his grasp. "Hello Ali," he said softly, before rising and standing in front of me, Tess on his hip._

_"Hello," I replied inanely, unable to formulate what I wanted to say, my brain having frozen. "That was an unholy racket you were composing there."_

_"It's Tess' piece," he said with another smile, "you should direct your comments to the composer, I am simply her manager." I let out a nervous chuckle at the stupid conversation and took a step away from the piano, watching as Tess wriggled to get down and play with her new toys that were scattered around the room._

_I watched her for a moment before transferring my gaze back to the tall silent man in front of me. "Eric I…" I started and then hesitated, knowing exactly what I wanted to say and still lacking the words to phrase it. "I…" There was no point anymore, it wouldn't come out correctly. "Oh damn it," I sighed and glanced down at my nails. There was nothing for it anymore, I would have to show my hand._

_Lifting my head, I looked up at him with a slight smile and then rising onto demipointe I held onto his shirt front and pressed my lips to his. I could feel his mouth widen in a smile beneath mine before he opened his mouth, allowing my tongue to gain entry the entry it demanded. We held onto each other for what felt like hours kissing and caressing with our lips, mouths teeth and tongue'. Eventually even my strong feet gave way and I had to lower myself back down to earth with a sigh, clinging onto him for support._

_He smiled down at me and ran his hand through a lock of my hair that fell over my eye in a dishevelled fashion. "I take it that's a 'yes' then?"_


	19. Chapter 18

**I am so sorry for the delay in posting this and keeping you all on tenderhooks. I have not been feeling way and trying to write the content of this chapter was very difficult with a sore throat, blocked up nose etc. etc. Found inspiration was lacking. Hope you enjoy it! Pips xx**

Chapter Eighteen

I sat in my seat awed and stunned by the sight I was beholding. My beloved Ali walking down a flight of stairs en pointe! It was quite a spectacle and given the hushed admiration of those around me, I could only assume they felt the same.

I had never had time for the ballet before now, always found it too feminine with what I perceived to be woman wearing ridiculous tutus and men in; well tight tights. But having lived with Ali; having seen the sweat and tears and love that she poured into her art, I became aware of the immense physical and emotional suffering that hid behind the beauty created on stage.

And so I sat there drawn into the world that was created on stage; watching my love; my…girlfriend perform feats of dancing that I did not think possible; contorting her body into the most amazing positions.

And when the final curtain came down and the audience burst into noisy applause, I stood and clapped until the palms of my hands stung with the impact and my fragile skin started to redden and bruise. It took four curtain calls before we were finally satisfied with our adulation. On the last bow I could swear that she looked directly at me; through the glare of the footlights; her mouth widening in a special smile.

"Come quickly, we have to go. Please would you excuse me," the high pitched voice came from my left. I turned and saw a little girl standing next to me, her hair drawn back tightly into a bun and a wand clasped in her hand.

I drew back as much as my seat would allow and waved her past, letting her gain another two feet of space towards the exit. "I want to see Christine," she said as she scrambled over me, followed by her parents shooting apologetic smiles in my direction.

"She is mad about Christine de Theale," the mother filled in as they filed past, carefully avoiding making eye contact and with a pleasant smile on her face. "She wants to see every ballet she's in, determined to become a ballerina herself!"

I smiled and nodded my head politely, hoping that would be enough response, although as luck would have it, the queues filing out the magnificent building ground to a halt. The little girl was not the only one jumping in impatience to see Christine de Theale. I could not wait to slip backstage and take her into my arms.

"Do you enjoy the ballet then?" The girl's mother continued, obviously feeling that now she had struck up conversation she must continue. I began to feel very hot and claustrophobic, not helped by the beads of sweat that had begun to slide under my mask.

"Um, yes, well this is the first time I've been in a very long time, but I know one of the dancers, so I am showing my support really," I supplied reluctantly, trying to give away as little information as possible. I am sure Ali would not be grateful if I started advertising our relationship to all and sundry. After all, I was very aware of the glaring anomalies between her stage and public image and the woman she was in private.

Thankfully luck was on my side and the bottleneck slowly began to ease, allowing me; as I had been instructed; to slip away and find an usher to escort me backstage to her dressing room. There pandemonium reigned as almost forty dancers and associated stagehands celebrated the end of another successful production.

I timidly knocked on Ali's door, unsure what to expect only to find her dressing room full of people, many in a state of undress. Her prince charming sat in the chair with only his dance tights on; their long straps going over his shoulders, his tunic removed to reveal a muscular sweating chest. Various dancers were also gathered round sitting on each other's laps and wherever there was a place to perch; in a mixture of costumes and sweaters, chatting and dissecting the performance that had just taken place. It was all so horrendously normal, that for a moment I stood back and took it all in.

"Can we help you?" Prince Charming asked me in heavily accented english, his manner not unfriendly, but with a certain degree of judgment in the question. Obviously they could not identify me, immediately putting them on their guard.

"I've come to meet Christ…." No, that wouldn't do, they would immediately think I didn't know her. "I've come to give Ali a lift home." I replied.

"Have you now," Prince Charming drawled, looking me up and down in a way that immediately sounded my alarm. I realised that I had nothing to worry about with his state of undress in her room, for there was no way he would be attracted to her. He gave me a smile and shouted over his shoulder. "Al darling, there is a rather interesting gentleman here to see you. Are you coming out of that shower any hour soon?"

"Bugger off Eduardo," the dulcet tones of my loved ones floated out from the cubicle in the corner. "If you gave me half a second of peace then I would be out much quicker!"

"Not getting shy in your old age are you?" He shot back, but obviously listened to her and stood up, shifting the dancer who was sitting on his knee in her tutu and a ragged old sweater. "Come on boys and girls, the prima donna has spoken, let's go and leave her to get some sex!"

He pushed the grumbling line in front of him; winking at me as he past; the top of his head reaching my chin. I had to smile at his audacity and the way he seemed to treat those around him. But with peace restored to the room, I closed the door behind me with a thankful sigh and sat down at the table; looking around at the signs of Ali's life.

If I had needed evidence beyond the kiss yesterday that Ali was mine; I only had to look at her mirror. There were several pictures of Tess and I; Ali and I and a couple of me alone; pinned around the frame. In most of them I did not face the camera, could not bare for my ruined features to be captured on film, but the fact that she still pinned them to the wall reinforced my ego.

"Hello," she came up behind me silently, smelling of shower gel and shampoo, her hair wrapped in a towel. A small trail of water seeped out from under the turban and dripped down my shoulder as she leant over it, claiming my mouth in a kiss.

I couldn't get enough of kissing her. We seemed to spend most of Christmas afternoon holding hands; kissing and hugging; like two lovesick teenagers. We had months to make up for; I reckoned and could therefore justifiably be excused for being unable to keep my hands off her, desperate for her touch.

We had squeezed into my narrow bed the night before and as she lay there in my arms we talked, restricted by the lack of room and my parent's unseen presence around us to engage in anything more physical.

But now as she leant over and kissed me, I caught a tantalising glimpse of her naked body as her ragged dressing gown gaped open.

"Sorry about the welcoming committee," she added once she had claimed her kiss. "I tried to bar them, but they got very upset."

"Oh," I tried to recall the faces of those who had been gathered in the room, but failed. "Who were they?"

"My little posse," she laughed. "No, just Eduardo, Lise, Amanda, Jules and Rory. They are my antidote to the stress of performing; especially if it is with James. They are just friends that's all." She signed. "Let's go home then. I'm knackered."

"In just your dressing gown?" I raised an eyebrow in question. "Whilst I find it a delectable covering, it might disappoint the hordes of fans waiting for you outside the door, half of which I am sure are not legally allowed to perform or even think of sex. Actually probably don't even know what sex is!"

Her face fell slightly at the comment and she let out a long sigh, reaching up with her delicate hands to unwrap the towel around her head and shake out her long hair. "Sit, let me comb that out for you," I commented, standing up, realising that her feet must be aching and every limb screaming for rest.

"Oh, I don't mean to be so callous," she said closing her eyes briefly and passing me the comb over her shoulder. I gently got to work on the matted rattails of hair, determined to restore the mess to its usual golden glory. "It's just that bunheads are so caught up in the romance of it all. Most of them will quit as soon as the pain becomes evident. There is probably one girl out of everyone that stands outside the door each week who will have the guts to become a dancer. But how can you tell them that?"

"I assume by bunheads you mean little girls who want to grow up to be you." She nodded. "Well, you could say, go home, put on a tight pair of shoes and dance for two hours then see if you still want to do ballet, but I don't think it would go down well. I would stick with thank you very much if I were you." I watched as she closed her eyes again, letting me pull the comb through her hair, her sleepy gaze reminding me of a resting cat. She let out a little snort of laughter at the comment.

"Actually, it was a dancer telling me the truth that made me all the more determined. I was a bunhead, outside the stage door and she told me that it was hard work, very painful and very tiring, but if I managed it would be magical. It was enough to spur me on at least. Mmm, don't stop, you have magical hands, I forgot how much."

"You haven't experienced half their magic yet," I whispered softly in her ear, chuckling slightly as she opened her eyes and a blush rose up her neck. She sought my gaze in the mirror, but I merely smiled back at her, not letting on what I had planned. We were going to have our night of privacy if it killed me.

Embarrassment created a barrier after that, despite the intimacy we had shared, for she knew my intentions and my comment had only served to make it obvious. Until now, the fact that we were to go bed together had been insinuated and looked upon as inevitable, but never mentioned out loud. Now she knew; there was definitely no turning back.

She dressed in record time and led me through the maze of corridors to the stage door, pausing outside. "We could be naughty and sneak out another exit, there are plenty," she said a wistful smile on her face, possibly hoping that I would give her permission to skive off this particular duty.

"No, my prima ballerina," I said gently. "As I would tell all my signings, the fans are what make you. Without them you could be fantastic; but nobody else would know. Now, chin up, smile and we will be through them in five."

The shrillness of over fifty young voices all shrieking in excitement at Ali's appearance nearly had been covering my ears, it worse then any rock concert. The adoration in their eyes; the excitement of meeting their superstar was quite humbling. I had seen many fans and the way they worshipped their idols, but nothing had quite prepared me for this. These little girls wanted to be her; for they imagined that her life must be the same as the one on the stage.

She was wonderful with them! I quietly observed from the side of the crowd, as she chatted and signed autographs; smiled and had her photo taken numerous times; as if she was not dead on her feet and desperate to get away. Possibly the fact that she was a mother herself gave her that extra ability to forget her own needs in the face of a child; or in this case a lot of children!

She had just worked her way to the edge of the group where I was standing and smiled up at me. I couldn't resist when she rose on her toes and claimed a simple kiss on the cheek. With a wave to her adoring fans, she linked arms with me and we turned to leave and escape the dwindling crowds.

"Mummy, Daddy look," the voice echoed in my ears as we made a move. "Christine is going off with that man with the funny face, the one I was sitting next to. That must be her boyfriend!"

"Charming little bugger," I muttered under my breath as we escaped. "At least she is too young to sell it to the papers. Funny face indeed!" I could feel myself getting het up, but the angel on my arm simply laughed.

"Oh Eric, that little girl is exact copy of me at aged eight and no doubt Tess will be the same. It comes with the territory or being a little girl. Besides wouldn't you prefer a child to be confident and happy, but slightly precocious, rather then timid and shy?"

"Hmm," I mused on her comment, mulling it over in my mind as we strolled to where I had left my father's car. London on Boxing Day was almost pleasant, devoid of its usual crowds so that at least we had been able to park close to the theatre for once. I tried to push the remark away, but it stuck, knowing that it was a fact I would have to face one day.

I pulled away from the curb into the light traffic, almost automatically heading out of the West End and towards the flat. "Um, aren't we going the wrong way?" Ali's voice cut through my concentration.

"No, I thought you would like to go back to the flat, take a bath, wind down for the evening. Doesn't that sound like a nice idea? There is no reason not to."

"Yes it does sound heavenly, but you haven't been there for over three months so it will be cold, dark and dusty. You haven't got any food and there are very few shops and restaurants open so we don't have anything to eat and my daughter is at your parents. How about that for reasons not to!" She crossed her arms and glared at me; reproaching me for obviously being so lacking in sense. I laughed at her aggravation, causing her to frown at me. The joy of baiting her, to watch her rise and bristle under my teasing was quite amusing. "Stop laughing," she growled watching me.

"You are so lovely worked up. Actually you are so lovely period, but I cannot help but adore that sweet little frown you get between your eyebrows when you get worked up. It is more real and more you then your smile."

"What are you talking about?" Her voice was perplexed as she frowned some more. "I don't think I will ever understand you Eric!"

"Good. Being familiar with people can be very boring. All I meant was that if you smile without thinking it is lovely. If you think about it for even a minute, it is your stage smile. But your frown is all you."

"Oh stop it; I'm too tired to follow the conversation." She leant her elbow on the armrest, cradling her head in her hand. "All I want to know is how you think we can spend the night at your flat."

I heard the tetchiness in her voice, saw the sag of tiredness in her shoulders and realised that it was cruel to bait her. We had not slept much last night, too excited with our reunion and uncomfortable crammed together in the tiny bed. I was tired and had not danced for three hours so she must be exhausted. "I have a cleaner, the apartments are serviced, Mum is looking after Tess and has packed us a picnic, which I must say is rather heavy on the Turkey, but looks delicious all the same. Does that answer your question?" I pitched my voice low and soothing, knowing she was sliding into a sour mood, bought on by her tiredness.

At my words she lifted her head and looked up at me with a true smile that lit up her eyes. "That sounds like a little bit of heaven," she admitted softly.

It took us another ten minutes to reach my home, park the car and get inside. I stood in the doorway, looking around at the sterile room, reassociating myself with its space. Ali wandered in more quickly; her gaze settling on everything, connecting with the echoing emptiness before she wandered over to the table. There as I had said, sitting in a regimental line was an envelope with her name on, a spare set of keys to the flat and the car keys, sitting on top of the insurance paperwork.

She turned and looked at me and if there had been any doubt in her mind over the claims I had made in my letter, I knew that they were now erased. "I promised," I said to her wordless scrutiny.

"I know," she replied, watching as I walked over to the table and picked up the envelope. Out of it I drew two plane tickets, holding them in my hand.

"Merry Christmas," I said handing them to her. "They are open tickets, they are still valid. You can still go out there." She picked them out of my hand and put them back down on the table.

"Why would I want to? You're here, that's what's important." Her gaze held so much as it rested on my face. Love, trust, desire were all mingled in her stare and I suddenly felt uncomfortable. This was all too intense and part of me balked at the fact that I was no longer in control of what was happening. Charming, seducing and loving had always been my arts; but now I was as nervous as a schoolboy, because for once it actually meant something and was no longer a game. We were fast approaching the point of no return.

"Do you still want your bath?" I hastened to put space between the present and what was to come.

"Depends, do you want one with me?" She demurred with a smile.

"No, not really. How about some food and wine instead? My mother has done her usual feeding of the five thousand." She realised that I was playing for time and her nod of assent was quick and friendly. It didn't take long to unpack the oversized cooler that had been filled up that morning and I was able to lay a lavish spread out on the coffee table, sitting down on a huge cushion on the floor and inviting her to join me. "Come, sit; take your shoes off and I will give you a foot rub afterwards."

"Oh food," she groaned in sheer delight, looking at the sumptuous feast of leftovers arrayed before us. For the remains of a Christmas lunch it made a fantastic meal. I reached over and picked up a small bread roll, spreading it with some exotic salmon pate that my mother always bought for special occasions.

She reached out to take it from me, but with a wicked smile, I held it away from her, breaking off a small piece and holding it out to her mouth. Her answering grin replied that she knew my game and she took it from my fingers with her mouth, slowing closely her lips around their tips and sucking.

Piece by piece I gave her the bread roll, her lips and tongue caressing my hand with every mouthful. When she had finished her light starter, she proceeded to feed me a mouthful of dates and apricots, which were scattered around the carved turkey.

Never had eating food been such an erotic event for me. I had always wined and dined in some of the most fantastic and expensive restaurants, but the food had been the temptation there, not the feeding of it. I looked up under shaded eyes and saw her watching me carefully. "Are you okay?"

"Mmm," she nodded in reply before pausing. "Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Would you take your mask off?"

"Would I?" I was taken aback by her request. The mask had never been a stumbling point between us. She never knew me any other way and whilst other people tended to shy away, glance up and then hastily avert their gaze or look away into the middle distance, she never had. Of course she had seen me with it off, yesterday being an example, but she had never requested me without it. "Why?"

"I know you shouldn't really, but I want to see you without it and besides…," a wicked gleam came into her eyes as she spoke. "It gets in the way of kissing."

"Oh." It was a simple request, with no artifice behind it and there was little I could do except reach up and undo the Velcro straps that held it in place, lifting it off my face. I placed it on the couch within reach and turned to look at her.

I was trembling and more nervous then I had been as an inexperienced sixteen year old when I lifted my hands out to hold hers. She took them in a steady grasp and looked into my eyes. Blue on blue.

Suddenly I was no longer the seducer or the rake as she leant forward and kissed me on the lips, her mouth warm and inviting. I was helpless to do more then enfold her in my arms and deepen the kiss, our tongues dancing together and exploring each others mouths. The pace was slow and leisurely, neither of us wishing to spoil the moment by hurrying. We had both waited too long.

We finally parted and looked at each other, her chest rising and falling as she held me in her stare. I knew what she wanted, wanted it myself, my body aching with the need to have her. I glanced down and saw my penis straining against my jeans, desperate to be released.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" She asked softly.

I was beyond words and the only reply my sex starved mind could settle on was some lyrics I knew. _"Ballerina, Crowd will catch you, Fly it, sigh it, try it, Well, I may be wrong, But something deep in my heart tells me I'm right and I don't think so_" I crooned softly, taking her into my arms and pulling us both up to standing.

She gave a small laugh that turned into a sob and the blue eyes that she turned up at me had a film of tears on them. "I never had you down as a Van Morrison fan."

"I always liked it; but it meant more since I met you." I said, cursing myself when she laughed again. I didn't let her continue, but silenced her with a kiss.

"That's just corny," was her cheeky reply as she came up for air. I simply patted her bottom in reply, sure that such an action would aggravate her no end, before swinging her into my arm. "Eric! What, oh you romantic old thing," she laughed as I tossed her slightly, trying to get her comfortable before climbing the stairs with her in my arms.

_The point of no return, that is what it's called, like that song, in that show or what I always think of is the point in the river that there is no turning back; from here the current will carry you over the waterfall. _

_He climbed the stairs carrying me in his arms, his breathing showing no signs of labouring under my weight, although I knew I was not too heavy. He pushed open the door to his bedroom and strode inside, gently lowering me to the cover, before crawling on next to me and laying down by my side._

_We lay there, side by side, gazing into each other's eyes, our hands reaching out to stroke the small bits of skin that were on show. His forearms, dusted with hair, my chest visible in the neckline of my sweater. Words didn't seem appropriate at this stage. We had said everything of importance and all else could wait._

_I took the opportunity to study his face, without the pressure of the mask, contorting and hiding his features. The surgery he had done in America had made a huge difference and whilst the skin around the right side of his face was still a graft, it had lost the raised hard look. It could be concealed under makeup with all its hiding powers! His face was still beautiful, the bones that made it classical still there, the aquiline nose; high cheekbones and a mouth that had enough of a pout on it to tease a smile out of most women. It was a face I loved and a face I wanted to spend a lot more time getting to know._

_"What are you looking at?" The question was asked softly, hesitantly and the hand stroking my arm stilled._

_"I'm thinking about what you might have on under that shirt," I improvised hastily with a smile. He didn't need to know that I was looking at his face; this wasn't the time or the place._

_"Mmm, similar thoughts to mine then." He leant forward and softly kissed me on the lips, pulling reluctantly away, before coming in once again. At the same time, the hand that had been gently touching me slipped around my back and pulled me closer to his body. I went willingly and with my acquiescence he deepened the kiss._

_Time slowly wound down and the subtle shift of light to dark happened as our world stopped turning. We were only here for each other now, no other reason. His hand moved, travelling up under my t-shirt, sure and light, tickling my ribs slightly, working up to my bra. I felt the delicate fumble before it was released, crumpling up in front of me and then a touch I had not felt for a long time._

_His long delicate sensitive fingers lightly danced over my nipple, tracing around it shape and playing with the tip until it hardened under his finger. As if that was the he was waiting for he released me and pushed my top over my head so he could have full access to my body._

_I shivered briefly; not so much due to the coolness of air over my skin, but the sight of a man, looming above me. His mouth closed around my nipple and I could not stop the slight gasp that came from my lips as he sucked the bud. He lifted his head slightly and kissed me long and full on the mouth before lavishing attention on my other boob, leaving me to gasp like a fish out of water._

_It has been so long since I had enjoyed the intimate touch of a man. I could have easily had sex with many of the male members of the company, for it was an incestuous life. We lived with out bodies and nakedness was quite normal; therefore it was not a great step to fall in and out of bed with people. I had chosen to remain aloof however, partly for Tess and partly out of love for Eric. Therefore it had been over two years since I had been sexually active._

_I had forgotten what it was like; forgotten the joy of my body coming alive when he trailed kissed up my neck, lightly scraping his teeth over my jaw line and nibbled my ear. His kisses left me weak and wilting at the knees, desperate for more. With clumsy hands marred by lust; I reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, growing annoyed at how the buttons refused to respond. Eric let out a noise, half groan half laugh and swatted my hands away pulling the shirt over his head with one swift movement. And then he stayed there, braced over my body._

_I watched as he slowly lowered himself on his arms to kiss me slowly; his muscles bulging with the strain as he placed his lips on my forehead, cheeks and then mouth. Taking advantage of his naked state I reached up and played with his nipples, flat and hard against his chest; my fingers skating over hard shiny skin; remnants of his accident._

_I heard his sharp intake of breath as I made my actions more forceful and demanding. He answered with similar actions, our gentle touching of earlier being replaced with something more demanding. _

_Gasping for air as if it were rationed and trembled I was aware of his hands as they raced over my body; moving lower, gently taping the tight jeans that were all that I now had on. I responded by moving my fingers to the top of his flies, wrestling with the button that held them closed. He batted them away; obviously wishing to be in control of my torment. My answer was to pinch his nipple._

_With a laugh he grabbed my arms, raising them above my head so that I was stretched out beneath him; quivering with lust and aroused by his demanding behaviour._

_"I think it is my turn first," he whispered huskily, descending for a kiss, nipping my lip slightly with his teeth. "Just lie back and think of…England." I was willing to comply, but partly because it turned me on I twisted slightly in his grasp, testing the strength of his hold. "No my little minx," he chuckled softly, sliding down my body with a trail of little kisses, his hands still holding mine above my head. _

_I gasped as he took a nipple into my mouth, flicking with his tongue and then sucking until it stood proud and hard. He then moved further; his clever mouth pausing at my belly button where he blew a raspberry, as I often did to Tess after her bath. His actions made me chuckle and I was barely aware when he flicked open my jeans and dipped a hand down inside them. All he did was run one of his long agile fingers across my knickers. It was almost too much._

_I struggled with some effort and he released my hands, letting me raise them to his groin, undoing his flies and pushing them down his lean hips. His boxers were tight; an unsubtle bulge showing me that our foreplay was not going to last much longer. I dragged my palms over it, enjoying the way he scrunched up his face trying to keep control._

_"Stop it," he hissed out, between clenched teeth; causing me to laugh and continue. In reply he pulled my knickers and jeans off with one swift movement, so that I was now lying naked on his bed._

_"You were saying?" He raised an eyebrow at me, making me swallow the words I was about to say. Instead he gently placed his hand over my groin, gently stroking lower and lower, sliding his fingers inside me; teasing and coxing. It was unbearable and unbelievable and I could feel my body responding in a way that it hadn't for a long time._

_Therefore when he climbed on top of me and gently slid in, I was ready, my body once again opening and accepting. It seemed like centuries ago that I had last had a man inside me; but he was so gentle, slowly pushing in; punctuating his entrance with long drugging kisses._

_"You're so beautiful" he whispered to me; as I shuddered against him. "I have loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on you." I couldn't find the words to reply to him. His declarations were too much; too full and to reply to them would have pushed me over the edge of the chasm where I was standing. Instead my eyes filled with tears as I gripped him tightly in my arms. "Ali; Ali my love, what is the matter? Why are you crying?"_

_I gulped back my tears; not wanting to cause him any distress. "Kiss me," I whispered against his mouth. "Kiss me and I will stop." He complied; once again letting me drown in his embrace. It was therefore not long before I felt a tightening, a wave of emotion as if all my senses had closed down and then had been pumped full of blood; a tingling started in my teeth and fingertips, growing through my limbs filling them with a nectar that I could not describe._

_And then it burst on to me, gathering me up in its wave and tossing and turning me. I was barely aware as my body gripped and caressed returning the actions of my loved one before he cried out; pumping into me before slumping on my chest in exhaustion._

_It took me a while to float down to reality; for feeling to return to my limbs and sense to my body. I shivered in the chill of the evening; the winter's night not held back by the low heating. And I looked at him; his face buried in my chest; the badly damaged side pressed against my skin; so that all I could see was the arch of an eyebrow, an eye softly closed and the sharp blade of his cheekbone. He was so beautiful, but then he always had been to me._

_"Eric," I whispered quietly; unsure if he had fallen asleep, shifting slightly to ease the weight against my body. He lifted his face and smiled at me softly. It was my undoing and the tears that had threatened before now overflowed and ran down my face, until I was a snivelling wreck._

_"Ali? Oh god Ali," he pushed himself off me and sat up; gathering me in his arms so that my tears wet his shoulder. "What is the matter?"_

_"Oh Eric, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry, I'm sorry;" I sniffed. "I didn't mean to, it's just that it was a long time and so; I mean the last time was with James and when Tess was…" I trailed off; the thought causing my body to wrack with tremors and a fresh vault of tears to open._

_"Darling Ali; hush," he said; bracing me by the shoulders and wiping the tears from my eyes with his thumbs. "I understand, I know. Please don't let it hurt, I don't want to hurt you."_

_"You didn't; you were wonderful." I hiccupped slightly and rested against his shoulders, my tears drying up. "I didn't mean it to end like this; I didn't want to upset you. Truly that was wonderful. Worth the wait," I ended with a grin, which he echoed._

_"That's better my darling; show me your smile, your real smile." I willingly obliged, chuckling slightly at his words, especially coupled with his earlier comments regarding my stage persona. "Now how can I please you some more; more food; more sex?"_

_"Kiss me again." I requested. He had no problem fulfilling my request and for a moment I thought we would once again collapse onto the bed. However as always my stomach with its usual sense of timing made its presence known. He started laughing as he was kissing me and I could not help but join in. And so we sat there, naked our lips locked together and our bodies trembling with laughter._

_My stomach added timpani to our laughter; yet it refused to be ignored and so I reluctantly eased off the bed, shivering slightly now that I no longer had his comforting warmth against me. He spied my shaking shoulders and rising from the bed threw a cashmere dressing gown over my shoulders. I snuggled into its luxurious warmth and watched as he prowled out the room._

_"Aren't you cold?" I followed him out and downstairs._

_"No, I have flesh on my bones, he replied calmly as he strolled down the stairs, crossing over to the piano. I stopped on the stairs, smirking at the sight of him sitting in the nude; naked as the day he was born; his fingers stroking the keys. The same fingers that just before had been stroking me in a similar way._

_Just as I was about to stroll down the stairs and join him, he pressed his hands down in resonant chords. I stopped as if frozen, amazed at the sound. Five minutes later I was still sitting there, unable to move with amazement and astonishment. The music was amazing, passionate, wonderful – I could not find the superlatives to describe it. This was the music that I had been craving and seeking. He had played extracts before, but now we started at the beginning; listening to the whole thing._

_"What is it?" I finally reacted._

_"What do you think?" He stopped playing and looked up at me; perched on the steps. I paused not sure what answer he was looking for._

_"Um," I looked down at my feet curled over the step to try and stop them from moving and dancing. "A ballet maybe?" It seemed to be the right answer for he nodded and continued playing again._

_"I don't recognise the music. Is this something that you wrote?" He nodded again. I rose from my perch and danced over to him, caught up in the beautiful music that rose from the piano. His eyes never left mine as he watched me doing a few steps, his dressing gown trailing on the floor behind me. _

_"Is that how you would dance to it?" _

_"What? Well possibly, I am not sure. I might be tempted to do it this way?" I changed the way I moved, rising onto demi-pointe and performing an arabesque rather half-heartedly as my limbs were still languid with love making and I could not be bothered to pull up my muscles properly and perform._

_"What about this piece?" He changed the tempo and I paused, once again astounded with what I was hearing. All I could do was stand there and shake my head, my mouth hanging open; as if catching flies. "Close your mouth darling," he said calmly as I stood there. With a flourish he stopped playing and spun around on the stool._

_"Do you often play naked?" I was distracted by the sight of him; sitting there in all his glory. Naked, fully dressed, drunk, stoned, high, happy, sad; you name it." He paused and looked at me. "But I think this is the first time I have played when I am in love." He looked up at me with puppy eyes and I couldn't help the smirk that crossed my face at the comment._

_"Sorry, I'm being corny again, aren't I?" He reached behind him to where a thick heavy folder lay on top of the piano and handed it to me. "Anyway, this is for you."_

_"What is it?" I was confused._

_"You're real Christmas present!" I looked at it curiously. "Well you didn't think that the vase was the only thing you were going to get? You didn't really did you Ali?"_

_"Well, no, I don't think so." I tried to hide my disappointment and tried not to grab the file out of his hands, succeeding in neither as Eric chuckled at my obvious confusion. He put the sheaf of papers next to him on the stool and pulled me on to his lap._

_"It yours Ali," he said pushing it into my hands. "It's a ballet that I've written for you. I've never done anything like this, but you inspired me. It's for you." There was a pleading in his voice that made me look at him in wonder before opening the cover and flicking through the pages, overwhelmed by the gift._

_"What's it about? It was a huge score; fully orchestrated and annotated. I could barely believe my eyes. This was a true labour of love._

_"It's a mixture of Beauty and the Beast, a touch of Swan Lake, stolen scenes from Cinderella. It is a slightly rough story line." He rested his chin on my shoulder and I could feel his breath tickling my neck. "There is a beautiful girl with a mean spirited sister who lies and cheats and turns her father against her. The father drives his youngest daughter out; believing the elder sister when she makes up a horrid tale. On the road she meets an old crone who tells her to go to the old castle and there she will find what she seeks. Mistress Belle," he paused and looked up at the ghost of a smile that crossed my lips, "okay it's not the best name I know. Anyway, she arrives at the castle late at night and sees a beautiful young man dancing in the grounds. She seeks sanctuary and hopes to meet him in the morning, but when she wakes all she finds is an ogre who lives there. Get it so far."_

_I frowned and nodded, realising the way he had stolen threads from other stories, seeing how the characters were etched out in the music already. "Go on," I encouraged, trying to follow his description through the pages of the music._

_"Well, she gradually comes to be very fond of the ogre, but still seeks out the young man who appears every night to dance with her and she finds herself torn between her growing love for the man of the day and the man of her dreams. Just as she thinks she will be driven mad with the decision the crone appears and says she must kill the one she rejects and then the other can live. If she does not make a choice they will both die."_

_"Did you make this up yourself?" I interjected. "It's very good."_

_"Well, yeah. It was rather good fun. So do you want to know how it ends?" I nodded._

_"Well, the ogre asks Belle to marry him and she realises that if she accepts she will have to kill the young man. However she eventually realises that she does love the ogre and; well; they live happily ever after." He shrugged. "I mean it is a bit more complicated and obviously lots of soul destroying dance and extra parts and stuff like that."_

_"Mmm, happily ever after." I snuggled into him, the pages lying limp in my hand. "Eric, you know I love you. It's a wonderful present. Thank you my darling."_

_"And you can dance Mistress Belle." He added._

_"Well yes, one day I am sure I would love to. It will be wonderful. Hopefully I will make it my seminal piece."_

_"No, you will dance it, next season." He insisted, looking at me straight in the eye, annunciating his words as if I hadn't understood something. They are putting the ballet on, at the ROB; they want to create it on you." He paused watching my face carefully and I knew he was worried about what I thought._

_I could not find words to rely and could only shake my head in wonderment whilst a smile split my face in two. It was the most amazing gift I could have ever been given. The music alone was a special present, but to have sorted it so that I could actually create this, make this my piece, create the role! Nobody had done such a thing for me before. _

_"There's one more thing as well, another present actually" he added, pushing me off his lap and standing up. _

_"What? Eric you spoil me!" I could not think what else he could shower me with after this amazing gift and prospect to my life. There was very little else I could want of him._

_"Christine, Mistress Belle, Ali;" he addressed me; lowering himself on to one knee. "Will you marry me?"_


	20. Chapter 19

**Here you go, late (as always) the last chapter! It has been a wonderful and at times frustrating journey, but thank you for coming on it with me and I am sure the muse will bite again soon, so keep looking. Thank you for all your kind reviews and words of encouragement, they mean so much to me. Pips**

Chapter Nineteen

About a year Later

_The humming of the crowd carried through the thin partition walls, excitement in the air along with festive cheer. I sat in the __excruciatingly__ small changing room, one that made my little closet at the opera house look palatial and applied my makeup, smoothing the pancake over my face, ringing my eyes in __kohl__ and __enhancing__ my features with rouge and lipstick._

_The noise set my stomach rolling and heaving, nausea never far off and I closed my eyes, seeking a small quiet pla__ce in my mind, hoping to ease the constant discomfort_

_"Ali?" My husband's voice interrupted my thoughts and I opened my lids to see him standing next to me, a frown marring his smooth forehead. He was dressed in a DJ, suitable for the occasion and I couldn't help but think how handsome he looked. "Are you all right?" Concern marked his voice as he took my clammy palm into his large hand and gently ran the knuckles of his other down the side of my face._

_"I'm fine, just a few nerves, that's all." I smiled up at him reassuringly._

_"I didn't think Christine de Theale suffered from nerves, especially when dancing to an audience of a couple of hundred in a __tin pot__ auditorium." He smiled to s__how the sarcasm of his words were__ meant in jest, after all it had been his idea._

_"Christine de Theale doesn't suffer from nerves," I replied, squeezing his hand. "But she doesn't usually put in an appearance until the curtain goes up. Right now it's just me and my knees are shaking!" It was a slight exaggeration, but all the larger to hide my rolling stomach behind._

_"Well, that makes two of us then," he said with a smile. "I can barely walk my knees are knocking so badly. I will be adding extra sound to the timpani. Well, I guess I had better go and take my place, I just came to wish you luck darling._

_"Luck," I beamed up at him, avoiding the word good in my wishes, far too steeped in theatre __superstition__ to utter it before curtain up._

_"Luck Ali," He said bending over and kissing me on the lips. "I love you Mrs St. John." And with a further squeeze of my hand he was gone._

_I sighed at my reflection and continued to apply my makeup. With only fifteen minutes before the start I was running late, having been __too tired to__ start warming up as early as I should have. Instead, I push__ed__ my__ whole routine back by half an __hour, knowing from past experience that it was not worth skimping on stretching and __rehearsal__ before going on stage. Much better to be slightly rushed at the end._

_I finished applying my make up and then stuck my head out the door, looking for the wardrobe mistress to help me into my elaborate tutu that I would be wearing for the performance. Just as I called out a wave of nausea pushed through me and I found myself gagging with the need to be ill. I pulled my head back inside the broom closet of a dressing room and forcing my head between my knees took a few deep breaths. There was nothing in my stomach to be sick on and I knew it was only temporary, nothing would last._

_In truth, this performance had come at a bad time. What had started out as a small private __show__ for my parents-in-law and a few of their friends, had grown to a larger audience of WI members and their families as a local fundraising event. As word had spread that the __home-grown__ talent of Eric St. John would be playing excerpts of his critically acclaimed ballet and his wife and her partner from the Royal Ballet would be dancing, ticket sales became uncontrollable._

_In fear that the small Village Hall where we had planned to hold it; would become overcrowded and dangerous, a deal was struck that we could use the larger and more professional __facilities__ of the local arts centre. Suddenly an evening of fun and dancing for twenty people had become a professional event relying on the staff and orchestra of the __theatre_

_Eric was playing the piano in the orchestra, grinding his teeth to keep his com__ments at bay regarding their ability and I was dancing a few of the pieces from the ballet along with Eduardo. In addition we were performing the Pas de Deux from Swan La__ke and Romeo and Juliet__. It was quite a full evening, requiring a lot of energy and a huge degree of fitness._

_My husband was quite worried about the intensity of it all and was cross with himself, his parents and the Women's Institute for letting it all get so out of hand. Knowing that this was a mixture of nerves and worry, I knew that this wasn't the right time to tell him that__ it was not stage nerves I was suffering from. In fact__ I was eight weeks pregnant!_

God, I was so worried about Ali. When I took her hand it was cold and clammy, despite the two hours of warming up she had just finished. There was a look of tiredness and a hint of fear in her eyes that sent jitters up my spine. Part of me wanted to go out front and tell the audience that it was all off, but I knew I couldn't do it.

Damn Lady whatever her name was for being unable to keep her mouth shut about the coup her local branch had won regarding the event to beat all events in the history of the WI. Instead, what should have been a light hearted and fun evening had become a marathon of dancing for Ali and Eduardo and a nightmare for me as I watched my beloved dancing her heart out on a substandard; tiny stage.

At least she had Eduardo to partner her, who was so thoughtful and caring when it came to her needs on stage. They had developed a perfect partnership, since James had upped and left to join the San Francisco ballet and I thought it was wonderful. Ali had all the friendship and support that she needed to carry out her job and I didn't have to worry about her partner hitting on her. He usually tried out his talents on me.

My thoughts were disturbed by the pressure of someone pulling on my carefully pressed trouser leg and I looked down to see the blonde curls and toothy grin of Tess. "Up, up, Daddy up," she demanded, holding her chubby arms in the air. I couldn't resist and lifted her into my arms, balancing her on my hip, hoping her little black patent shoes would not leave marks on my dinner jacket and trousers.

"Where are Granny and Grandpa?" I asked her, looking around for my parents, she had obviously briefly escaped my mother's eagle eye.

"Mummy's room," she explained, inserting her finger into her mouth and leaning her head on my shoulder. Her absolute love and trust settled me slightly and a smile escaped my lips, as I planted a kiss on her forehead.

She acted as if there was never any doubt in her mind that I was her father and Ali and I had only been married a few months when she dubbed me so. Even now the lisped words could bring a tear to my eye.

Rocking Tess in my arms slightly, I allowed my memories to wander back to the wonderful day when I made Ali my wife. We had not waited long after our engagement and a cold winter weekend at the beginning of February had seen us exchanging our vows in the old Norman church in Warlington.

It had been a small congregation and my first chance to meet her family amongst the wedding guests, realising why they did not hold close ties to her heart. Her step mother was cold and offish, her father disinterested and her brother barely took time off from his international calls to come inside and watch the service, too tied up with the American stock market. Even her mother who was very kind and helpful seemed to be distant with her granddaughter. I realised that Ali's true family was present in the assorted members of the ballet who had been able to wangle a day off from work to come as guests.

We were a small party of fifty and were able to hold a simple reception at The Old Vicarage, before entrusting Tess to my parents care and grabbing a heavenly three days honeymoon in a glorious old hotel, where we barely left the bedroom. Four days after we were married, Ali was back at the opera house dancing.

The very briefness of our wedding did not bother either of us. We were happy to be together as a family, once again united and living in our flat in London. Immediately Ali was thrust into the choreography for 'Belle and the Prince' as someone had seen fit to call my ballet. She came in exhausted every evening having spent several hours of each day creating and practicing the steps that were being put together. It took four long months for it to be ready.

I would never forget the night when it was first performed, seeing my darling wife dancing a role I never believed would exist outside my head and my dreams. And the reviews the next day gushed heaped praise on both my composing and Ali's dancing. We were dubbed as the most talented couple in Britain.

And now here we were about to perform one of the most desired works in the ballet repertoire, that is if my wife didn't faint before she even reached the stage. I craned my neck, looking for any sign of my parents, for it was high time I went and waited in the wings to take my position at the carefully tuned piano. There was once piece in the scenes that was just me and Ali, a love poem in the middle of the pomp and circumstance and I could not bare to play it tonight if I had to hide even the slightest flatness in it's tone.

"Ah, there you are," my Mother's capable voice floated over the backstage hum towards me. "I thought you might have Tess with you. Come to Granny darling." My daughter, the turncoat she was took one look at her adopted Grandmother and practically leaped out of my arms and into hers. There seemed to be no loyalty there! "Right, well Ali is ready, I guess we had better go and take our seats. Lots of luck darling." Mum reached up and patted my cheek with her spare hand, slightly smearing the covering of makeup that Ali had carefully applied earlier.

Whilst I no longer had to wear the mask anymore and my features had healed to a decent degree there was still a certain rawness to the skin. Thankfully my wife's talents included applying makeup and before any huge formal affair, she would take her thick foundation and carefully blend and smooth it into my own skin, so you could not tell the trauma I had been through.

"Wait Mum," I grabbed her hand as she turned to leave.

"Yes darling?"

"Do you think Ali is okay? Do you think she looks well?" I blurted out, what I had seen earlier concerning me. My Mother simply smiled enigmatically and blew me a little kiss.

"She looked wonderful," she said, turning with a wave and heading off to the front of house. I stood there stunned, mulling over her enigmatic reply, too nervous to understand it's meaning and too jittery to sit still and be calm.

"Um, Mr St. John?" the stage manager came up to me. "We need you at Orchestra pit wings, the conductor is waiting for you."

I briefly nodded and turned to follow him, glancing back at the wings one last time. I was rewarded by the sight of my wife approaching the very spot where I had just left; her elaborate bead encrusted tutu on, a sweater draped over her shoulders and a pair of stripy legwarmers over her tights and shoes. She ground her feet in the tray of rosin and scuffed her shoes on the floor slightly, testing their grip. Seeing her involved in her usual little rituals settled me a bit. As she said Christine de Theale had taken over.

I wished the same could be said for me, for I was more jittery then on my wedding night and the effusive applause that marked my entrance had my heart racing. I bowed my thanks slightly before sitting down at the piano, my gaze taking in the keys before me. The house lights went down and the audience fell into hushed silence, only a few squeaks from children and the rustle of sweet wrappers betraying their presence.

I caught the conductor's eye and nodded watching as he lifted his baton and cued the strings in. And then I let my unconscious mind take over, put my fingers on the keys and started to play.

Annoyingly, the piano was positioned in the orchestra pit so that I could not see the television screens that relayed the performance to the conductor. All that I had as a guide to the success of the ballet was the rhythmic metronomic thump of the dancers feet and the cheer of the audience as pieces of dancing ended.

It was a full hour later that I could be excused as 'Belle' had ended and we were currently taking an interval. I could watch the shorter second half from backstage, this time cheering Ali on.

She shone in this classy display of work and I found myself wondering, once again how it was possible that she languished in the corps for so long. I had long ago come to the conclusion that James had held her back, his style and partnering hampering her natural ability. Whatever the reason she now shone, destined to go down as one of the famous ballerinas of her time.

It was again a triumph and the applause of the audience was hugely enthusiastic as she danced off stage right. I happened to be standing stage left and had no time to go and join her, the stage manager using the opportunity to fuss over my appearance and fill me in on taking my bow. The clapping rose a decibel in sound as I walked on, concentrating on the footlights as I walked to downstage centre as directed, took my bow from the waist and then walked backwards and slightly to the right, holding out my arm to indicate the arrival of the main couple.

She danced on to stage, her hand in Eduardo's her radiant smile hiding the absolute exhaustion she felt. I could see the tremble in her legs, the slight droop of her perfect posture. If my applause had been enthusiastic, the crowd then went wild. Flowers rained down and the air was filled with cries of 'Brava' and cheering. I could not help myself, but scooped one of the roses off the floor and presented it to her, gaining even more vocal support from the audience.

Finally after five curtain calls we finished and Ali drooped against me in exhaustion, resting her sweaty head against my shoulder. "You were wonderful darling" I whispered in her ear, kissing the sensitive skin just by her ear, seeking a tender moment amid the hustle of backstage.

She raised her head and I was taken aback by the wide eyed fear that filled her eyes. "Eric," she said shakily. "I need to go to hospital!"

_I had felt the warmth between my legs as I had finished__ dancing__. My female intuition warning me that __something was not right and in the few moments between my final movements and taking my curtsey I grabbed a peak under the floating dress I was wearing. I could see the red stain between my legs, not too large but spreading and I was sure it could only mean one thing – I was loosing the baby! My stubborn pride – I should have told Eric and he would have cancelled the whole event in the blink of an eye. I had danced at eight weeks pregnant with Tess, but it had not been as strenuous as tonight._

_I leant back in the car seat, watching the dim winter light fade into darkness; the street lights flashing by__ in a ribbon of neon yellow and orange__. Eric drove the car as fast as he dared; tight-jawed, his eyes narrowed against oncoming headlights__, his face bleached of colour in the gloom__. He was angry, I could tell in the way that he gripped the steering wheel, barely glancing in my direction. I was too tired and scared to worry about his anger though. I knew it wasn't at me, but at the situation._

_I had briefly explained what was happening to me when__ suddenly__ I found my costume ripped off me, my shoes untied and I was bundled into my street clothes and into the car. No time allowed to remove my makeup or have a shower and so I sat there with my hair pulled back in a formal bun; my face heavily made up and sweat pouring off my body. Despite the heat I was shaking; from tiredness, from fear – I didn't know._

_I could feel the life slipping out of me, dying in it's own way and the vast sadness that could only rise from such misfortune. We spun into the hospital grounds and Eric pulled up outside A&E, racing around and picking me up from the seat, carrying me into the department in his arms. _

_Such a heaving mass of humanity only seems to __exist__ at airports and hospitals as was the case here. The waiting area over flowed with people waiting for help, yet Eric strode straight up to the desk. All I could do was bury my head into his chest in fear and shame for having made him come here._

_"My wife is miscarrying," he bit out in clipped tones when the __receptionist__ asked him what was wrong. "And I would appreciate a wheelchair for her, she is in too much pain to walk!" __One seemed to magically appear b__y his side and __he gently lowered me into it before allowing __the triage nurse __near. She __bent over me with a kindly smile, blinking slightly at my gaudy makeup._

_"Are you bleeding honey,"__ she said kindly and slowly. I simply nodded in affirmation, too tired and worried to be more descriptive. "And when did you first notice it?"_

_"About half an hour ago," I whispered, "when I came off stage"._

_"How many weeks do you think you are?"_

_"Eight." She stood up, her smile fixed. "We need to get you scanned. I will get a porter to take you over to X-ray and we can do an ultrasound. Meanwhile, let's get you on to a trolley and you can lie down. You look tired."_

_Eric held my hand as I was pushed off to a cubicle, helping me gently onto the bed, where I lay my eyes closed, unable to communicate and explain. "How long have you known Ali?" he asked gruffly when we were finally alone again._

_"About three weeks," my lip trembled as I confessed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I knew you would cancel the gala and your parents were so looking forward to it and it could have been all right. I danced with Tess until I was fifteen weeks pregnant! I was going to tell you tonight and then it would be Christmas and perfect and…" Tears ran down my cheeks, riddled with mascara and __kohl__ leaving dark tracks on my face._

_"Hush, hush," Eric stood by me, holding my hand and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Darling, don't worry, it cannot be good for you. We need to find out what is going on. I am sure it won't be long." I nodded, and with a wince against the harsh halogen light, closed my eyes. "Do you have a headache? Do you want me to take your hair down?"_

_I nodded again, the task of talking too difficult as my emotions were clogged with tears that trembled on my lashes and continued to stream down my cheeks. I felt him gently pull the pins out that held my tight bun in place and the easing of pressure as it gradually fell down, helped as my husband ran his hands through it, trying to restore some semblance of normality to the stiff waves. "Do you have a mirror?" I whispered, scared that my appearance was abnormal. _

_"No," he gave a little snort of laughter as he pocketed the pile of hairgrips that sat on the edge of the narrow bed. "I am always amazed at how many of these are in your head!" I smiled wanly and in the absence of a reflective surface reached up to my eye and pulled away the thick black lashes that were glued to my own eyelid, handing them one at a time to Eric to put with the hairgrips_

_There was no time to do anything else to restore my appearance when the curtain opened and a harassed __doctor__ strode in__, followed by a nurse__. I was immediately glad to see it was a woman, hoping that there would be solidarity in our gender and with this understanding. "Mrs St. John?" she asked in brisk voice that almost hid here tiredness. _

_"Yes," my lips were dry__ and parched as I answer, dehydrated from dancing and further exacerbated by my bout of tears. _

_"__I am __Dr __Fielding__You say you are miscarrying." Not a question, but a statement. _

_"Yes."_

_"And you are eight weeks pregnant." I nodded. "And when did you first notice bleeding?"_

_"About an hour ago, when I came off stage?"_

_"Off stage?" The __nurse__ looked up with a glimpse of interest in her eyes, hoping that the routine of questions would be a little more interesting._

_"__My wife is a ballet dancer__," Eric explained, __realising__ that I was not forthcoming with the facts. "You may have heard of her as Christine de Theale." He paused waiting for affirmation, which came as a sharp nod and a slight softening of the __Dr. __Fielding__'s__ mouth, almost a smile.__ In contrast the nurse __beamed__ her recognition._

_"I take it you were performing then when you noticed bleeding?" I nodded again, feeling like a helpless mute. She smiled generously for the first time. "Mrs St. John, or would you prefer to be referred to as Ms de Theale?"_

_"No St. John is fine."_

_"Well then, over fifty percent of pregnancies naturally terminate in the first trimester. I cannot say that dancing would or would not exacerbate this. It is very likely that if you miscarry it could happen just as easily if you were lying in bed doing nothing. Do you understand? Please don't feel that you might have bought this on by what you were doing."__ Her words were meant to be kind, but she delivered them in a lecturing tone. I wasn't going to get sympathy from this quarter._

_"I danced until I was fourteen weeks with my first child," I mentioned shyly._

_"And I take it she is fine?"_

_"If you can call a reluctance to go to bed and a desire to wear her mother's shoes fine," Eric interjected with a note of humour that went ignored._

_"Let me feel your stomach and see how things are going there then and we will see what we can do," the __Dr. __Fielding__ suggested __briskly__, gesturing __for the nurse __to __assist__. With__ Eric's__ help I pushed down the waist of my trousers and tights, realising with a glance down that the bleeding seemed to have stopped for the moment. _

_Her fingers were long and cool where they touched my warm skin and I gave a little gasp at the difference in temperature. __She manipulated the slight bul__ge in my stomach, her forehead contracting in a frown. "And you said you were eight weeks?"_

_"__Y__es, I think so. Well had a little bleeding at eight weeks which I guess was my last period."_

_"And was it lighter then usual?" She continued to gently probe at my stomach, which from the angle I was lying at had a noticeably rounded look to it, different from it's usual flat planes._

_"Actually yes, it was rather strange as it started and bled slightly for a day and then spotted for another couple of days and then stopped. But then I have never had very normal periods. None of us dancers do. I've been told it's because of what we put our bodies through."_

_"Well sometimes ultra fit people do loose their periods, or they become very light." __Dr. __Fielding__ mused slightly, standing up and looking at me, still with a frown. "Can you remember when you had your period before your last one?"_

_"Um, gosh." I looked to Eric for help, not quite sure if he could offer any._

_"You had it when we went to dinner with your father that time," he offered quietly. "That was the end of September."_

_"Yes," I confirmed this looking at the nurse with a smile, desperate now for some sweet tea and sympathy. She simply nodded. _

_"I would like to send you for an ultrasound, see what is going on," she said. "I will just see if there is anyone to take you down. Just lie here quietly Mrs St. John." And with that comment she strode out the cubicle, leaving us alone with the nurse._

_She smiled at me kindly. "Let me make you more comfortable there." I finished removing my trousers and tights, wincing at the sight of the blood stained gusset. "I can get you a pair of disposable ones," she said with a slight smile. "They crinkle though. Right I will be back with some and find out when we can take you for a scan._

_Ten minutes later I was lying on the bed wearing nothing but__ my top and a pair of unattractive paper knickers. It was like giving birth all over again. Eric sat silently next to my bed, half-heartedly pushing back the cuticles on the nails o__f my right hand that he held. To wait was the cruellest punishment I could be given and yet there was nothing else to do._

_I hadn't cooled down properly and I could feel the muscles cramping in my legs and feet, the tendons contracting up needing to be stretched out and cooled down. Normally I __would do a few pli__e__s and then shower before heading to the nearest bath after a show. Now all I could do was lie there and grit my teeth, wiggle my toes slightly and pray._

_It was another fourty-five minutes before I was finally taken up to x-ray, lying in the darkened room, gasping as the cold gel was massaged over my stomach and the scanner pressed against my flesh._

_"Here you go!" The small grainy picture was turned to face us and as I saw the picture on the screen I let out a small gasp of surprise and delight. There was a very clear picture of a baby currently kicking it's legs and sucking it's thumb._

_"Is it all right? Is __it still there? Will it stay there?" I had not expected to see a baby on the screen, thought that their desire to scan me was to be sure that I had been accurate with my miscarriage and to see if I needed a dreaded clean. Instead the embryo; my baby, was clearly in front of my eyes._

_"Absolutely fine, it looks like it dancing!" The radiographer smiled at me. "From what I hear just like it's Mother. You are about thirteen weeks you know, so you shouldn't miscarry too easily."_

_"Thirteen weeks!" I shook my head. "No, eight! At least I think so."_

_"Well, all the measurements are putting this embryo at twelve to thirteen weeks Mrs St. John, so either you are carrying a very huge child or you have your dates wrong!"_

_"Oh." I turned to Eric with confusion but stopped stunned at the look of awe in his eyes as he gazed at the picture._

_"It's going to be fine Ali. You and our baby! You are going to be just fine!" His emotions got the better of him and in the dim light of the room I saw the tears that welled up over his eyes and spilt down his cheeks!_

If someone had told me two years ago that I would be happily married with a child that I loved as mine and another on the way, I think I would have proclaimed them mad, or maybe hit them. Possibly both if it had been Dev making the prediction!

I sat there later that evening at my wife's side. She lay in bed, not for medical reasons, just sheer exhaustion as I stroked her hair, humming various melodies to her that were winding themselves around each other and trying to arrange themselves into a composition in my head.

"We forgot to ask what sex it is?" I suddenly broke the silence. All that I got was a low lazy giggle from Ali.

"It's too early to tell yet darling. That isn't for another month and a half. Are we going to ask?"

"Hmm. Yes, I think so. I want another girl, especially if she is like you and Tess. Or maybe a boy to balance out the females. Do you know, I don't actually mind, it is just amazing the fact that it is ours!"

"Mmm." Ali didn't reply, but I could almost hear her brain working, querying and questioning. "Eric?"

"Yes my love?"

"This new baby, it won't make you love Tess less will it? I mean I know she isn't your daughter by blood, but she doesn't know that and I don't want her to feel left out in any way."

"What?" I sat up from my reclining position and looked at her, her eyes wide and serious in the dim light of the room. "Ali, my darling darling Ali, how could I love Tess any less? Or you. If it wasn't for the both of you I would never have had a life after what happened, you both made it all possible. I love this baby as it is a sibling for Teresa and a child for us and I love you for making it with me, loving it, loving me and loving our first child." I bent forward and kissed her on the lips. "And that's the truth Ali St. John."


End file.
